Love at 37,000ft
by HPfanGleekForLife
Summary: Kurt Hummel's job takes him all over the world, to the most luxurious hotels in the most exotic locations. But he's never had anyone to share them with, until he meets a flight attendant on an outbound flight to Paris who might just like to change that...AU fashion buyer!Kurt and flight attendant!Blaine. Note: rating has changed from T to M.
1. September: Paris

_**A/N: Welcome to the first Glee Klaine fic that I actually intend on finishing! I already have the final chapter planned out, seriously. All I have to do is write the middle bit. AU fashion buyer!Kurt and flight attendant!Blaine. Enjoy!**_

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**September: Paris**

New York JFK airport during peak times was like being in the herd of cows destined for the midday milking at a dairy farm in Alabama or some other Southern state.

Hot, crowded, and smelly.

Despite his impeccable timing, cautious foresight and early departure from his Manhattan apartment, Kurt Hummel could not have predicted the collision between two taxi cabs at a junction coming off the Manhattan bridge that had caused him to be exactly forty-two minutes late for his 4:22pm flight to Paris.

He was scheduled to be staying in the French capital for a week hoping to buy from the top designers to be shipped back to the US for American _Vogue_, a magazine he had been working at for nearly three years now. In those mere three years, he had been promoted from simple office assistant to fashion buyer and finally head of retail and buying. He took his work very seriously.

Fanning himself ridiculously with his passport, he filed in at the back of an impossibly long queue for check-in and surveyed with distaste the environment around him. Even in September, it was stuffy and warm and he felt himself becoming sticky with sweat under his lavender shirt, hand-picked to impress the French representative of _Vogue_ who would be meeting him on his arrival in Paris to take him to his hotel, paid for of course by his boss.

The overhead lights were too bright, the floor too shiny, the ceiling too white and sterile. The air was filled with the noise of creaky suitcase wheels, couples arguing about who had the passports, children shrieking in protest at having to stand in a queue.

_This is exactly why I should have asked for an earlier flight_, Kurt thought derisively to himself, turning his nose up at a toddler who had had enough of being forced to hold his tired-looking father's hand and had decided to rebel, stamping his booted feet on the ground with his face screwed up. The strap of his rather heavy bag was cutting into his shoulder and his hand was sweating where it gripped the handle of his suitcase.

Eventually the queue shuffled forward and Kurt had to move quickly to avoid having his feet run over by a heavy-handed woman with the most enormous suitcase Kurt had ever seen. Hadn't she ever heard of travelling light? Seconds later, the same woman knocked _over_ the suitcase and let out a cry as it landed on her feet.

Kurt tutted under his breath and turned his attention to the front of the queue, painfully aware that beads of sweat were forming across his forehead. _None of you have to go to the most important fashion hub in the world where your decisions will determine the future of the magazine you work for and your career itself, _he thought,_ so move before I run you over with this case!_

Kurt rolled his eyes in exasperation as a large group of giggling young girls – yes, they were girls and not women – made their way to the counter, jostling each other in order to be the first to present their passports and luggage. One was wearing a bright yellow straw hat which clashed completely with her carrot-coloured hair, and he cringed inwardly.

Finally, he was at the front of the queue. He slapped his passport and flight ticket onto the counter in front of a fat man with a permanent scowl, who motioned with a grunt for him to put his suitcase on the conveyor belt. _Would it kill these people to have some manners?_ He drummed his fingernails on the counter as the man processed his details on the computer. He typed a few words and pressed a button, all the while keeping the scowl on his face. A machine next to him whirred and a receipt was produced, which he ripped off and thrust in Kurt's direction.

"Aisle seven, seat C." he grunted. Right at the front of the plane. Exactly where he didn't want to be. "We ain't got anything else left."

"Thank you." Kurt replied, out of politeness only, although the man didn't deserve it. He tucked the receipt with his seat into his pocket, adjusted the strap of his bag and made his way across the enormous space to the Departures screen.

He swore under his breath as he realised he only had fifteen minutes before his flight started boarding.

_Shit_.

He was going to have to run if he wanted to make it on time, and just to be absolutely clear, Kurt Hummel did not _run_. Ever. Running made you hot and sweaty and your clothes stuck to your skin in that horrible damp way, not to mention it would ruin the fabric of his shirt. But he didn't have a choice.

Pushing through the crowd of people on the escalator, muttering "Excuse me, _excuse me_, sorry, excuse me" over and over like a mantra, he broke into a jog as he reached the top and searched the overheard signs for Boarding Gate 51. Ten minutes.

Left, straight ahead, right and then left again. He managed to bump into some little old dear with a cane, mumbled "Excuse me" again, and then collided with a woman in a wheelchair, who swore loudly and threatened viciously to crush his toes if he didn't "get the hell out of my way".

Five minutes to spare. He quickly joined the end of the boarding queue, passport, ticket and seat receipt at the ready, letting out a breath of relief. But his good mood with which he'd left his apartment earlier that day was tarnished. All he wanted to do was sit down, relax, and enjoy his flight. He would arrive in Paris in the early hours of the following morning and his first scheduled meeting with the designers would commence at 8am, leaving him only five hours of sleep. But he was used to the long haul and sleep deprivation that came with travelling, and it seemed that lack of sleep boosted his productivity and motivation to get the job done properly.

He decided he would get a coffee as soon as the drinks cart came round.

He was passed through and he walked along the draughty metal tunnel that would take him to the plane, walking a little faster in order to get to his seat as quickly as possible. He didn't want to be stuck behind some family with kids trudging along like snails, or worse, an elderly couple with Zimmer frames. Once he'd shown his flight ticket to the attendant at the door of the plane, he identified aisle seven, seat C and, self-conscious of the dark sweat stains developing under his arms, he pushed his bag into the overhead compartment and sat down.

Finally, time to relax. He might as well enjoy the flight. Buckling his regulation seatbelt securely, he leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs as much as he could in the small space. He _would_ have secured a seat with extra legroom had he not been late and ended up stuck with the shabby front seats, but it was too late to complain about that now. He let his eyes drift closed as he heard the soft whirr of the plane doors sliding shut, and the footsteps of the flight attendants as they moved about the front cabin.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I would like to welcome you aboard this 4:22pm flight to Paris and we shall departing shortly, aiming to arrive at our destination at around 4:16am local time. The duration of the flight is estimated to be at seven hours and fifty three minutes with a decent tailwind to propel us forward as we cross the Atlantic."_

_**"Mesdames et Messieurs, ceci est votre commandant de bord. Je tiens à vous souhaiter la bienvenue à bord de ce vol 4:22 pm à Paris et nous allons au départ peu de temps, dans le but d'arriver à notre destination aux alentours de 4:16 am, heure locale. La durée du vol est estimé à moins de sept heures et cinquante trois minutes avec un vent arrière décent pour nous propulser vers l'avant alors que nous traversons l'Atlantique."**_

* * *

Around two hours later, Kurt was awoken by the sound of a cart rumbling past the aisle and a cacophony of voices as his fellow passengers bought drinks and snacks from the flight attendants. Disgruntled, he stirred in his seat and cracked one eye open, the whiff of coffee reaching his nostrils. A grande nonfat mocha would suffice.

He was greeted by a view of a very, very nice ass. An ass that belonged to a man who was currently handing over the change for several bags of candy to a family in the row of seats across from Kurt.

Kurt had never had much luck with men. Those he called his colleagues were boring, executive types and those he had gone to high school with were either all brawn and no brains or all brains and no brawn, and anyone who knew anything about attraction knew that you had to have a good combination of both to actually be physically drawn to a person. The closest he'd ever got to any kind of relationship was a painfully embarrassing crush during sophomore year on the boy who would later become his step brother.

So his eyes were drawn to this man with piqued interest despite all his efforts to remain professional and businesslike. Just because he was on this flight for his job and not a holiday, it didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself. Contrary to popular belief – of his father, his stepmother, and most of his colleagues – he wasn't _all _work and no play.

Although he did try his very best to remain at the 'work' end of the spectrum at all times.

The main straightened up and Kurt noticed that he had dark, tightly curly hair that became slightly frizzy towards the nape of his neck. His hands, where they gripped the side of the cart, where strong and tanned.

Maybe he was a _little_ interested. But he had yet to see the front of him and for all he knew, he could have a lazy eye or yellow teeth or some other kind of unattractive feature. And anyway, none of this even _mattered_ because there was a less than 1% chance that the man was even gay.

So he shook his head to clear his thoughts and reached into his wallet – the finest Italian leather, of course – for a handful of dollar bills to pay for his coffee.

"Grande nonfat mocha, no cream." He held out the fan of bills in his hand. "Please." he added as an afterthought, just in case the man might think he was being rude. He didn't look up as the money was taken from him and his coffee poured from a small industrial machine atop the cart which emitted little puffs of steam into the already stuffy air of the plane. A brown hand deposited the cup onto the plastic tray table in front of him.

"Is there anything else you need? You look a little tense." A pause, in which his change was dropped onto the table. "Rough day?"

Kurt looked up in surprise and forgot his words as he was met with a pair of bright hazel eyes in a clean-shaven, tanned face. He looked around Kurt's age, maybe a little younger, with impressive cheekbones and a wide, very white smile. No yellow teeth, then.

He was actually rather good-looking.

_Well, if that wasn't unexpected I don't know what is. _Nobody had ever asked him on a flight before if he'd had a _rough day_. It was new. He wasn't sure how to take it.

"A busy day." he replied. "Work demands."

"Oh, where do you work?" Kurt was taken slightly aback by the man's genuine interest in his life and his brows knotted together in confusion. After a few moments, he decided to hell with it – he had five hours to kill and nothing else to do. He might as well make a friend.

"American _Vogue_. I'm head of retail and fashion buying in New York.."

The man's thick eyebrows rose. Was he impressed? "So that's why you're heading to Paris?"

"That would be correct. I'm meeting some very important designers for the first fall issue." _I hope that didn't sound pretentious_, he thought, inwardly cursing himself for sounding pompous.

"I hope it goes well, then. But you might need an umbrella – Paris gets pretty wet this time of year."

"I think I'll manage." Kurt said, with confidence. A little bit of rain was the last thing on his mind.

"Famous last words!" warned the man with a laugh,a warm, hearty laugh, before grabbing the cart with both hands and dragging it back down the aisle, rumbling and clattering as it went. Kurt's view of his ass returned and he found himself scrutinising with an embarrassing obviousness that he didn't even realise.

His name tag identified him as Blaine. Just Blaine.

* * *

An hour or so later, another announcement came over the plane's PA system.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we seem to have encountered some turbulence so I must ask you to ensure that your seatbelt is securely fastened as the captain has turned on the seatbelt signs, so for your own safety please ensure that your seatbelt is fastened and that you remain in your seat."_

_**"Mesdames et messieurs, il semble que nous avons rencontré quelques turbulences alors je dois vous demander de veiller à ce que votre ceinture de sécurité est solidement fixé en tant que capitaine a porté sur les signes de ceintures de sécurité, donc pour votre propre sécurité s'il vous plaît vous assurer que votre ceinture de sécurité est fixé et que vous rester dans votre siège. "**_

Turbulence. _Turbulence_. Kurt hated turbulence. Even the slightest tremor made him nauseous and he really wasn't in the mood for showing himself up in front of his fellow passengers by vomiting everywhere.

The plane suddenly rattled and shook, and Kurt groaned. _Thank God for the aisle seat, after all_. Maybe getting assigned a seat right in the front wasn't so bad. At least he was near a bathroom.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, humming under his breath to distract himself. Why, today of all days, did the plane have to encounter turbulence? He was already sweaty and sticky and he was pretty sure what had been a carefully styled hairdo this morning had deflated like a meringue hadn't risen. Did he have to insert nausea into the equation as well?

Another tremor and Kurt squeezed his eyes shut tight, not caring how dumb he might look or that he was a professional working man with a job to do. He did not want to ruin this shirt any more that it already was. _In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. _

_Oh God, I am going to be sick. _

"Are you all right?" A warm hand on his arm alerted him to the concerned voice of Blaine, the flight attendant from earlier. "You're kind of...white."

"Turbulence doesn't agree with me very much." Kurt managed to groan, his lips stuck together, his mouth parched. The plane shook again and he gripped the metal armrests tightly. "Oh God. I'm supposed to be meeting Vincent de Beaudelaire in five hours._"_

Through half-shut eyes, Kurt saw Blaine smile, flashing those ridiculously white teeth and making his eyes crinkle at the edges. That smile made Kurt's fingers and toes feel strange and his face flush an unattractive shade of pink.

_And_ he was pretty sure he was going to be sick.

"D'you want some water? It might help."

"Please." was all Kurt could manage, his former irritation forgotten. He rummaged around in his pocket for some change but was immediately stopped by Blaine.

"No, no. It's on the house. Or rather, it's on the plane. You don't have to pay for things when you're sick." he insisted, motioning for Kurt to put his money away.

"Are you sure?" Kurt asked, hating the way his voice rasped.

There it was, the limb-tingling smile again. "Of course. I'll be right back."

When Kurt closed his eyes again, he saw Blaine's face imprinted on the black of his mind, even after his footsteps had faded away. He was nice, and concerned, and very good at his job, if this was the way he treated all the passengers on his flights. But nobody else was being offered a concerned voice and water and a friendly smile.

Maybe he was imagining things. Flight attendants weren't this nice to random passengers. He decided to ignore it and concentrate on getting his stomach to settle. The turbulence had stopped, but the nausea had been left behind.

Meanwhile Blaine had returned with a rather appealing cup of ice water.

"Here you go. Let me know if you need anything else, you just have to press this button" he pointed to a small button above Kurt's head, next to the A/C, "here and I'll be at your beck and call."

Kurt laughed. Actually laughed. Although, it was more of a little giggle which made him painfully aware that he was taking Blaine's kindness far too seriously. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." He winked.

* * *

The week had been a complete and utter disaster.

He had ordered no more than six bulk loads from four designers and even they were bordering on mediocre, but he would be lynched if he returned home to New York with nothing. Nothing he saw appealed and everything he saw felt wrong, as if it didn't quite fit what he had been looking for. He'd been kept awake most nights hoping he would have better success the following day, but he had no such luck.

Kurt was pretty much ready to jump off the roof Charles de Gaulle airport, to be honest, if he wasn't looking forward to the prospect of sitting in a reasonably comfortable plane seat for a six-hour flight back to New York. At least he hoped there would be no turbulence this time.

He wondered absently if Blaine would be attending on the flight and then mentally slapped himself for thinking such things. He did not, in any sense, want to see Blaine again.

He didn't.

He didn't want to see his perfectly white smile and his expressive eyes and all-round genuine friendliness that meant you couldn't help but warm to him. He definitely didn't want to peer at his ass like one of those old perverts on the Subway as he dragged the drinks cart up and down the aisle.

He definitely didn't want to get motion sickness again just so he would offer him some water.

So when he boarded his flight and spotted Blaine up at the front, near the cabin, talking animatedly with a fellow flight attendant, he didn't get giddy in the slightest.

When he settled into his seat and fastened his seatbelt, he certainly wasn't waiting for Blaine to come over and say hi.

And he definitely didn't want to push the call button just to see if Blaine would respond.

_Get a grip, Kurt_, he told himself sharply, _you don't mix business with pleasure. And you certainly don't want to flirt with a flight attendant you'll probably never see ever again after this flight. _

_**"Mesdames et messieurs, bienvenue à bord de ce vol à destination de New York, qui sera prochainement au départ. J'espère que vous avez un vol confortable et agréable. "**_

"_Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard this flight to New York which will shortly be departing. I hope you have a comfortable and enjoyable flight."_

He had a window seat this time instead of the aisle, so he settled for watching the hustle and bustle outside the plane through the small window as the plane prepared to depart. He watched as the remaining luggage was loaded onto the plane and the carts pulled away by attendants in ghastly fluorescent jackets, the boarding tunnel taken away. There was something soothing about the flow of rhythmical movement, of the routine.

That was, until a large woman with a disgruntled toddler unceremoniously stuffed herself into the seat next to him and Kurt felt like groaning out loud. It was only out of politeness that he kept his mouth shut. _Today is not my day_, he thought to himself. _Hell, this week is not my week. _

As if on cue, Blaine walked past Kurt's row checking the overheard compartments, his back towards him. Kurt watched with surprising fascination as he stretched onto his tiptoes to close each one, the movement showing off the muscles in his back and shoulders. He didn't know flight attendants were expected to be well-built, even if Blaine was smaller and more slender than the other men on the plane.

"Hello, stranger! You're back again?" Blaine had turned around and spotted Kurt sitting next to the aisle just as the plane rumbled into life beneath them, making Kurt's legs tremble.

"Unfortunately, yes. You're stuck with me as a passenger for another six hours." Kurt replied, allowing a small smile to cross his lips.

Blaine smiled his broad, white smile. "You say that like it's a bad thing." he quipped.

"It is."

"I'm sure."

A moment passed between them in which Kurt couldn't help but notice the way his eyes crinkled up at the edges when he smiled in a half-squint, and the way his eyelashes went on for so long they were brushing his thick eyebrows. _Kurt, it's not normal to look at a guy's eyelashes. Stop it._

"I never did get your name..." It's not a question, it's a prompt, and for once Kurt actually feels like answering honestly.

"It's Kurt." he said. "Kurt Hummel."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you. I suppose you've noticed that I'm Blaine." He laughed, pointing to the name tag pinned to his deep blue flight attendant's uniform. "My last name's Anderson."

"Is that Swedish?" Kurt heard himself ask without even realising it, and he flushed with his own eagerness.

"It's of Swedish origin, yeah. But it's spelt the American way, with an 'o' not and 'e', and only one 's'." Blaine explained.

_Anderson. _Kurt committed to memory for later use, whatever that may be.

"Kurt's an unusual name." he offered, scooting forward to allow a passenger to pass behind him. The plane was extremely noisy now as it taxied towards the runway, picking up speed, and he had to speak loudly so that Kurt could hear over the noise.

"My mom was a big fan of _The Sound of Music_. It was her favourite movie, and I guess it's one of mine, too." Kurt said softly, a sudden feeling of sadness creeping up on him at the mention of his late mother. It had been years, so many years, but it still hurt to know that she wasn't around any more.

"I prefer _RENT_, myself."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. Blaine knew musicals? More specifically, he knew _The Sound of Music_ and _RENT_?

"Stage version or movie?"

"Both. Always both, but in very different ways."

Kurt allowed a moment to pass, not letting his approval show on his face. "Correct." He was actually really starting to like Blaine. The man knew _RENT_, for God's sake. He was a man after Kurt's own heart.

"Hey, are you two gonna stop yakkin'? You're blocking my view of the TV!" The woman next to Kurt piped up angrily, glaring at them both and motioning for Blaine to move so that she could watch the in-flight safety video currently being played on a small TV attached to the ceiling. They were in the sky now, barrelling upwards at breakneck speed, and for a moment Blaine looked appalled at the woman's rudeness.

Then, miraculously, his face softened and that stupidly white smile returned.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll talk to you later, Kurt." And then he moved away down the aisle. _Ma'am_. Who calls people _ma'am_ these days, anyway? Blaine was far too nice for his own good.

But Kurt did like him. He couldn't help it. He liked the way he'd said his name, _Kurt_, with an emphasis on the 't' which made his name sound a lot better than it actually was. He liked his low, melodic voice and his friendly tone and his eagerness to help. He'd barely known him for eight hours so far (counting his first flight) but he found himself wanting to speak to him again.

Holy crap, was Kurt Hummel actually _attracted_ to a man for the first time in...well, since high school?

It was a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one. It was..._nice_. He was good looking and kind and seemingly intelligent, and he was obviously good at his job because from what Kurt had observed (he was _not_ staring at hi, thank you very much) from the happenings around the plane, Blaine was able to get a positive response from most of the passengers he tended to. In short, all the things Kurt had wanted in a man but could never find.

Kurt watched out of the corner of his eye as Blaine looked over his shoulder whilst talking to another steward and smiled at him, blinking slowly with those ridiculously long eyelashes, and Kurt couldn't help but return the gesture.

He swore he saw Blaine's cheeks go pink, but maybe he was imagining it. Because nobody had ever been attracted to him before, and it was insane to think that Blaine might be.

But then again, maybe it wasn't insane at all to think of the possibility of a hypothetical romance between himself and a flight attendant he met 7 days ago.

And that was how Kurt Hummel found himself a new love interest. He just didn't realise yet what it would eventually become.

* * *

_**A/N: Any chance you might want to leave a review? The credit for editing this chapter goes to ambur-kay, my awesome beta, tumblr user theuniversestalentscout :) I'm hoping for weekly updates on this every Tuesday so keep your eyes peeled. Until then, keep Klaining! (and follow me on tumblr, my url is likesboyswholikeboys)**_


	2. October: Milan

_**A/N: This chapter is up a little earlier than expected since I finished it early. It's a little longer than the first because it kind of ran away with me...a random plot twist turned up out of the blue and I just couldn't help myself! Enjoy!**_

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**CHAPTER TWO**

**October: Milan**

It was a whole month before Kurt saw Blaine again, this time on his flight to Milan, where he was overseeing a photoshoot. The original supervisor of the shoot had fallen ill with the flu so Kurt was asked to stand in, and if he was perfectly honest, he was _extremely_ excited. He'd never been to Milan before, only Florence, and that was only for a minor shoot. This was a cover shoot and he would either execute this perfectly or die trying.

Either that or he'd be murdered anyway by a group of very angry stylists, photographers, models and the director if he didn't do it right. And he wasn't ready yet for death by photoshoot mob.

So it was with confidence, pride and determination that he held out his ticket for his flight to the boarding steward, who took it, swiped it on a little machine which beeped affirmative, and silently gave Kurt the OK to board the plane.

Of course, he hadn't been thinking about Blaine the entire month, ever since he landed back in New York. Of course he hadn't thought of his smile or his melodic voice or his cheerfulness or the way his eyes sort of expanded and became huge and round when he was happy.

He hadn't thought about any of that at all.

So naturally, when he reached the mouth of the boarding tunnel and found Blaine waiting at the door of the plane to board passengers, his heart didn't suddenly quicken in his chest, as if it were a hummingbird beating its wings.

When Blaine spotted him, he immediately motioned for him to come over to his side of the plane where he was passing through throng after throng of passengers.

"Back again? You must really like flying with this company. A secret for you: it's not that fantastic, but I get to go to some really nice places, so it's not all that bad."

Kurt let out a fake sigh. "It appears so. You'll be getting tired of me soon enough and you'll want me to find another airline."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, I like seeing you around. You're a lot better than _some_ of the passengers I meet, but don't tell anyone I told you that." Blaine lowered his voice on the _"some_" and inclined his head towards a rowdy family with three small children who were clutching at various kinds of stuffed animals and squealing loudly. Ouch. That _would _get annoying after a while.

"Your secret's safe with me." Kurt assured him as he took his passport and ticket back from Blaine, who had examined it for authenticity moments before. Their hands brushed as the exchange was made, and Blaine's skin was smooth and warm to touch, the fingertips calloused somewhat. "And I guess I like seeing you around, too. It's refreshing to see a flight attendant who isn't so robotic that they might as well have been constructed from wires and steel and taught to talk."

Blaine laughed, shaking his head. "You're one of a kind, Kurt. I like you." He looked up suddenly and his eyes widened in alarm. He rearranged his features into a professional-looking expression. "And maybe you should just take your seat because there's a queue starting to build up behind you and they don't look very happy."

Kurt looked over his shoulder and indeed there was. He gave a nervous giggle and feigned apology to the people behind him, shuffling forward past Blaine to his seat. Their sides connected as he slid past and the fabric of Blaine's uniform jacket was soft where his fingers touched it. It was definitely no polyester blend.

If it had been, he would have been seriously disappointed. What kind of self-respecting airline uses polyester blend for their uniforms?

Not this one, clearly.

Pleased with himself and his new discovery, he made his way to his seat and deposited his usual hand luggage in the overhead compartment. He stalled for a moment, debating whether to sit back down or close the compartment himself. He decided to leave it open, because he knew that Blaine would then have to come over and close it, giving Kurt an excuse to talk to him again.

It was a foolproof plan, really. One that was sure to work.

Kurt reached for the magazine he had bought in the duty free area and flicked to the article on the scandal surrounding a fashion editor at _Elle_ who had allegedly bribed a rival magazine for ad space and models. He sat back in his seat and engrossed himself in the drama, all the while watching Blaine over the top of the pages as inconspicuously as possible.

Meanwhile the captain's announcement came on over the PA system.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will shortly be departing on the 11:15 flight to Milan, Italy. In the meantime please ensure that your seatbelts are securely fastened and all luggage stowed away in the overhead compartments or under the seat in front of you. I wish you a pleasant and enjoyable flight."_

_**"Signore e signori, questo è il vostro capitano che parla. Ci sarà presto in partenza sul volo 11:15 a Milano, Italia. Nel frattempo si prega di assicurarsi che le cinture siano ben fissati con tutti i bagagli riposti negli scomparti testa o sotto il sedile di fronte a voi. Vi auguro un volo piacevole e divertente. "**_

Moments later, as predicted, Blaine came over to check the overheard compartments before take off and saw immediately that Kurt's was still open. Raising an eyebrow at him, as if to say, _"Really?_", he made his way over to Kurt's row.

"You know it's very irresponsible to leave these things open." he said, reaching up to close the compartment, a playful edge to his voice.

"I'll be more careful next time." Kurt replied, lowering his magazine, his tone equally teasing. _Is this what they call flirting? _He thought. He didn't really have much experience of it so he wondered if he was doing it right.

There it was again, the eyebrow raise, as if Blaine was challenging him. But for what? Honestly, the little Kurt knew about the practice of getting someone to like you was embarrassingly limited. Spending your sophomore year practically stalking your future stepbrother would do that to you.

"I'm sure you will. D'you want me to get you a coffee ready for when we're in the air?"

Kurt's mouth gaped open a little bit as he realised that Blaine was not only literally _the_ nicest flight attendant he had ever met, but also that he _liked Kurt back. _Of course he did. There was no other explanation.

He liked _RENT_, had actually asked about Kurt's job and had shown concern when he got sick on his flight to Paris. Blaine might actually be perfect.

He quickly snapped his mouth shut to avoid looking like a goldfish.

"Sure! I would love that, really! I could use a pick-me-up if I'm going to be dealing with stubborn Italians as soon as I land." _Are you actually legitimately this nice or are you just playing a joke on me? _

"Very well, then. I'll make sure that's ready for you." He gave a silly little bow of the head, which made Kurt chuckle in amusement and hide his head in his hands (and no, he wasn't hiding his pink cheeks, absolutely not) before moving away.

He straightened up in his seat and ran his hands along his thighs, letting out a huff of breath.

Kurt acknowledged the man sitting in the seat next to him with a nod of the head before settling back down. He thought about reaching for his cellphone, but it was in his bag which was now safely stowed away in the overhead compartment. He moved as if to go and get it, but then decided against it. _I'll get it later_, he thought, and resorted to watching the movement outside the plane again.

In reality, he was just waiting for Blaine to come back with his coffee and he might as well admit that to himself because it was the truth.

If he was honest, Blaine was one of the best people he'd met in a long time. His colleagues at work just weren't the same company. Even if he was a flight attendant and had a habit of jetting off to various locations around the world. He wondered where he'd been, the places he'd visited, if he had ever stopped off at one of the airports he'd flown to and explored the city.

Kurt knew that if he was a flight attendant, that's what he would do.

* * *

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, he could smell coffee and from a snippet of conversation he heard from somewhere nearby, they were 37,000ft up in the air and propelling towards Europe at high speed.

_Coffee. _Something stirred inside his sleep-sluggish brain. _Blaine had brought him his coffee_. Just like he'd said.

He rubbed his eyes and pushed a hand through his hair as he sat up a little straighter, blinking a few times to clear his vision. There it was, as promised, a cup of steaming nonfat mocha waiting for him on his tray table.

There was also a napkin with a few words scribbled on it in green pen.

_You were asleep and I didn't want to disturb you._

Kurt bit back a smile, his cheeks colouring. His first thought should have been, _Oh my god, he's seen me sleeping, that's so embarrassing_, but surprisingly it wasn't. His first thought was that it was very, very sweet. He picked up the cup and took a sip. It was perfect.

_Is he some kind of coffee god as well as a really good-looking flight attendant? _Kurt thought to himself. _Because he has to have some kind of debilitating feature, nobody's _that_ good. Maybe he's secretly a deadly assassin or a spy for the Russian Mafia. Or a really bad case of athlete's foot. _

_Or maybe he's not actually gay and I'm going to be severely disappointed at the end of all of this. _

He took another gulp of his coffee and, veins thrumming contentedly with caffeine, Kurt sat back and rubbed the napkin absent-mindedly between his fingers. He'd always appreciated good penmanship and he noticed the way that Blaine's _t's_ sloped to the right and the b _and p _were slightly rounder than the other letters. There were tiny spots of green ink on the corner of the napkin where the pen must have blotted, and Kurt almost laughed out loud because _yes, of course Blaine would use a broken pen_. It just seemed to fit him.

Leaning his head against the small window, he allowed his mind to drift away from thoughts of work and Italian photographers and the photoshoot, focusing instead on the present.

Kurt was never one of those people who "lived in the here and now". He liked to plan ahead, to map out his days and weeks and months and years. It gave him security. He knew what was coming and how things were going to pan out. He was one of _those_ people, the ones who kept a diary religiously so that they never missed an important engagement and had several lists such as _Things To Do _and _Things To Remember_ taped to the fridge.

He kept a notepad by the phone in case he needed to take a message, for goodness' sake. He could count on one hand the number of times he had been rebellious or spontaneous, or had broken a rule.

No, Kurt Hummel was not used to "living in the present". Which was why it felt strange now to let all of his anxieties, concerns, worries and thoughts drift away as he stared at the dense wall of cloud beyond the window of the plane.

_I haven't called my dad in a while_, he mused. _Maybe I should when I land in Milan. He'll want to know how the flight was and if I got there safely_. Kurt allowed himself a small smile. Even at twenty-three years old, he still worried for his father and his father worried for him. They had always been close.

He wondered how Rachel, his best friend from high school, was fairing now; he had learnt from her most recent Twitter update that she was engaged to Jesse st James, and happily so. Kurt had never liked him much, mainly because he had made scathing comments about his choice of songs (there was _nothing_ wrong with a man singing a song traditionally for a woman, thank you very much!) and his taste in fashion, but if Rachel was happy, then he was happy for her.

He certainly wasn't jealous of her. Absolutely not. Why would he be jealous of his best friend who had finally found someone who made her happy whilst he spent most nights sitting at his laptop crunching numbers on clothing orders and working out sales profits to determine from which designers to buy and which to forget about?

He wasn't jealous.

Kurt drained the rest of his coffee and flexed his arms, stretching them above his head to keep the circulation going. Nothing made a worse impression on those in the fashion industry than a tired and weak-looking body. He knew that from experience, especially when dealing with Italians. If he was overseeing a week-long photoshoot he would have to be strong and alert.

Getting bored, he pulled out his phone, deciding to check his emails. There was nothing he hated more than a n unnecessary backlog of messages waiting for him in his inbox because he'd been too exhausted from work to check them. He was nothing if not efficient.

He hummed to himself as he switched on his cell and navigated to his email inbox, ignoring his fellow passenger who had fallen asleep beside him.

_Junk, junk, junk, _Elle _online newsletter _("I'll read that later," he decided), _junk, junk, even more junk, junk...oh God._

_No. _

_No, this is not happening to me right now._

Kurt blanched in horror as he clicked on the email in question. His fingers visibly trembled as he scanned its contents with his heart sinking like lead into his finest loafers. This could _not_ be happening to him, it just _couldn't_.

_**We're sorry, but we've found someone else to oversee the shoot so you won't have to go to Milan this week. I know the flight's already paid for but we'll contact the airline as soon as we can. **_

He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it.

Here he was, 37,000ft up in the air above the Atlantic, on his way to Milan in fucking _Italy_ for a photoshoot he was never actually supposed to attend.

His eyes stung with tears of humiliation as he contemplated throwing his phone through the plane window and out into the open sky. He was mad. More than that, he was _furious_. He was furious with them for letting him down as _Head of Retail and Fashion Buying_ and he was furious with himself for letting this happen because he'd been lazy and decided not to check his emails before he left for the airport.

This was, first and foremost, the worst disaster he had ever encountered in his lifetime.

What was he supposed to do now? See if he could get the next available flight home to New York once he landed in Milan? That would mean more embarrassment than he would care to imagine. But he was honestly just too angry and upset to want to do anything except sit and wait until the plane touched down.

Then he would find the nearest restaurant and let out his feelings by buying the most expensive dessert they had to offer, ordering two, and eating the lot until he felt sick.

_And I haven't done _that_ since I didn't get the intern job I wanted at Christian Dior_, he thought wryly. _Which was four years ago_.

Downhearted, he slumped in his seat in a very un-Kurt-like way and put his head in his hands. He rubbed his hands across his face and tried to stamp down his disappointment, but to no avail.

He was just incredibly _annoyed_.

With his colleagues, with himself, with everyone on the plane for no apparent reason. He was annoyed with the little kid he could hear shrieking from four rows behind and with the businessman with the Macbook Pro who kept _tap tap tapping_ as he typed. It was a pet peeve of his, people who typed too loudly on their laptops. They should really invent a silencer for those things.

Maybe getting some sleep would calm him down. He seemed to like sleeping on planes. It soothed him. Maybe it would help now.

With that thought, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his seat. He let the noise of the plane fall away as he blocked out the thrum of the engine and the chatter and laughter and general sounds surrounding him.

At least, it would keep him occupied until he reached Milan and had to decide what to do next.

What felt like centuries later, Kurt was woken violently by the sound of the plane rumbling along the runway as it touched down at Malpensa International Airport, Milan. It was just outside of the city centre and he could see through his bleary-eyed vision the outline of the city in the distance.

It was a cruel reminder of his situation. Stuck in Milan, _Italy_ of all places with no job to do and the task of finding a flight home ahead of him. He wasn't pleased, to say the least.

Something caught his eye and he noticed that Blaine had left him another note whilst he had been sleeping. His empty coffee cup was gone and in its place was a napkin identical to the first. The ink was red this time and distinctly blotchier than the first, which made Kurt think that Blaine didn't own any pens that actually worked. There was just two words.

_You okay? _

For some reason, those two little words made Kurt feel...strange. He hadn't even realised that Blaine had noticed he was upset, which was strange. It was as if he was watching over him in a sweet and not creepy kind of way, and that was nice. Kurt wasn't used to that kind of attention, except perhaps from his father.

His breath caught in his throat as he read those two words over several times, _You okay?_ He wasn't used to having people care about his mental and physical state apart from his parents, and maybe Rachel although she was usually off in her own little world where only she existed. His heart was beating fast in his chest. Was this what it was like to have somebody who actually gave a damn about you? Even a practical stranger on a plane you'd only seen a total of three times so far?

He realised that he would like to get to know Blaine better. He also realised that he really, really needed to pee.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he shuffled forward in the queue to leave the plane, carefully extracting his bag from the overhead compartment as he did so. He narrowly avoided dropping the bag on an elderly man's head, and mumbled an apology as he gathered up the courage to see if Blaine would be interested in having coffee with him once they were in the airport.

Kurt didn't know what the protocol was for asking flight attendants if they wanted to have coffee with you, or even if it was allowed. But he might as well try.

Unfortunately, there was a wall of people separating them as passengers jostled each other to leave the plane and he couldn't get close enough to ask him without having to yell across the heads of the people around him, which would be embarrassing for both of them. So he decided to wait and see if Blaine would be going to the airport, and he'd stop him once they were inside.

Which totally wasn't stalking in any sense of the word.

It was simply waiting for an opportunity to interact with someone he liked and was interested in, that was all. Nothing stalker-like about that.

At least, that's what he told himself as he made his way off the plane and headed for the Arrivals hall to collect his no longer needed suitcase.

The airport was crowded. It was the middle of the afternoon, local time, and the place was thronging with people as groups poured in from both sides of the Arrivals hall, people on different flights coming from different locations. He checked the enormous digital screen for the conveyor belt which would be distributing the luggage from his own flight.

_Flight No. BC34 from NEW YORK...Conveyor Belt 11_

_**Volo No. BC34 da NEW YORK ... nastro trasportatore 11**_

Kurt quickly navigated the crowds, dodging suitcases and trolleys and people, as he aimed for conveyor belt 11, which was on the other side of the hall. There were 12 belts altogether, all spitting out the luggage brought in from different flights. He had never really realised until now how packed an Arrivals hall could get. In all of his flying experiences, he had had a reasonably quiet journey through the airport on arrival, but this was not the case here.

Pushing through a large group of people at the front of the crowd around belt 11, he immediately began searching for his case, his earlier attempt to find Blaine forgotten for the moment as he concentrated on this task. After getting his suitcase, he would have to check when the next available flight to New York was and see if he could get a ticket.

If not...well, he was going to be seriously pissed off.

_Aha! There you are!_ After several minutes of careful scanning, he spotted his suitcase on its way around towards him. It was a first, actually. Most of the time he was stuck there for a half hour or more, just waiting for his luggage to turn up. He hated waiting. _I suppose I was lucky this time. Maybe the airport felt sorry for me because my week-long photoshoot job got cancelled without my knowledge so now I'm stranded here. _

Without warning, he swung his arm out and grabbed the handle of his suitcase, dragging it ungracefully off the belt. It landed with a loud _thump_ on the floor, wheels clattering, and a few people around him stopped to stare for a moment at the source of the noise. _What are you all looking at? _He thought, rather viciously. _Haven't you ever seen someone take a suitcase off a conveyor belt before?_

Rubbing his temples with his thumbs, he set off with his suitcase. The bright lights of the airport made him disorientated and it was difficult to see. Squinting, he he found the nearest restroom and ducked into it quickly, taking his suitcase with him. As unhygienic as that may appear, he really, _really_ needed to use the bathroom and he wasn't going to take any chances leaving the case outside.

Coming out of the bathroom, he saw immediately the person he had been looking for. Blaine. He was standing a few feet away, observing the people that passed through the doors at the end of the hall and out into Customs and Passport Control.

He was still in his uniform. The deep navy of his flight attendant apparel contrasted rather well with his olive skin and Kurt imagined that he was one of the very few people that could make a flight attendant's outfit look good. From this angle, Kurt could see the bold curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose, the faint outline of his ear, the roundness of his smooth cheek. He was even better looking than Kurt had first thought and he felt that tingling, numbing sensation returning to his fingers and toes as he admired him from this distance. _Man up, Kurt_, he told himself forcefully. _Just ask him if he'd like to get coffee. Say that you have some time to spare and were wondering if he would join you._

His stomach filled with butterflies at the prospect of actually having to ask him out. He hadn't asked anyone out for a long time, not since his brief relationship with an intern at work, who had been hardworking and loyal but unfortunately very boring and not really all that attractive, in the end. _I can't believe I'm actually nervous_.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way towards Blaine, rehearsing what he was going to say in his head, the same way he did before giving a presentation to his superiors. People often didn't appreciate how hard this kind of thing was, this whole asking people out thing. His narrow window of experience didn't help much, either.

An announcement over the airport PA system stopped him in his tracks.

"_This is an important announcement. Flight number YK222 at 18:45pm to New York JFK has been delayed. The approximated waiting time for this flight is four hours and ten minutes. It is due to arrive at Malpensa International at 20:55pm. We apologise for any inconvenience caused."_

_**"Questo è un annuncio importante. Numero di volo YK222 alle ore 18:45 a New York JFK è stata ritardata. Il tempo di attesa approssimata per questo volo è di quattro ore e dieci minuti. E 'previsto l'arrivo a Malpensa alle 20:55 pm. Ci scusiamo per ogni inconveniente causato. "**_

Delayed. The next available flight to New York JFK had been fucking _delayed_. If Kurt hadn't wanted to cause a scene, he would have stamped his foot on the ground like an enraged toddler. If he had been furious before, he was outraged now. It wasn't _fair. _Why did everything have to happen to _him?_ First his job had been cancelled, and now his next flight home had been delayed.

Things couldn't get any worse.

Defeated, he grabbed his suitcase and trudged feebly in the direction of the exit. He guessed he had a long wait ahead of him so he might as well see what the duty free stores had to offer him. His thoughts of asking Blaine for coffee had been abandoned once more.

He didn't even notice at first when the person in question called out his name.

"Kurt! Kurt!" He whipped round, not registering who was speaking. "Over here!" He didn't realise it was Blaine because he didn't expect him to call out to him like that. It was a surprise. "Kurt! Hey, are you okay?"

Kurt finally realised it was Blaine talking to him and he turned to face him with a grim expression. "My flight got delayed." He had no heart to say anything else.

"The New York flight? You're on that too?" Blaine replied, confusion written on his face. "But didn't you just get here?"

"Change of plans. I was supposed to be overseeing this big photoshoot, but I got cancelled at the last minute and only found out on the plane when I checked my emails, which is just _fucking _fantastic because now I'm stuck _here_ for four hours until the flight comes in so I can go home."

Something seemed to click in Blaine's head.

"Ah, so that's why you were upset on the plane earlier?" he asked, his voice laced with a concern that made Kurt feel warm to his toes. "I was going to come over and ask, but you looked like you didn't want to be bothered..." his voice trailed off, as if inviting Kurt to respond.

"Yes. Yes, it was. Sorry, I'm being boring. I'm just really annoyed right now."

"You don't have to apologise, I can imagine. Look, since we've both got a fair bit of waiting to do, what do you say to joining me for some coffee?"

Kurt's eyes widened impossibly as he stared at Blaine in disbelief. "I was – you're going to think this is silly, but I was just going to ask you the same thing!"

"Really?" The tone of Blaine's voice couldn't have been plainer – he had not expected _that_. His face split into his usual broad smile and Kurt swore he saw a sparkle in his eyes.

"Yes, actually. I mean, if you want to..." Kurt was suddenly nervous again. _You're not a teenager any more, Kurt,act like it!_

"Of course I want to! I asked you first, remember?" Blaine laughed, the warm, hearty laugh, and Kurt found it impossible not to smile back at him. He quirked in eyebrow.

"Touché."

"I _would_ like to get to know you better." Blaine admitted, "so, coffee? I already know your coffee order, so..." He seemed to be floundering, something that Kurt thought was endearing and he decided that he would humour him and accept the offer that he had first wanted to make.

"I'd like that." Kurt said. "I'd like to get to know you better, too."

"Right this way, then. I know this great little place just around the corner from here that does the best coffee you will ever taste in an airport duty free store. You can count on that."

* * *

"No way. You're making that up. There is absolutely no way that actually happened!" Kurt protested, eyes watering from laughter as Blaine told him a story involving one of his high school friends and an April Fool's prank that went out of control.

"It did, I swear! I have video proof. But it's on my computer at home, so I can't show you. But I swear, it happened. And I _did _once dare one of my friends to dress up in his girlfriend's clothes. I've got the photographic evidence to prove it." Blaine insisted.

They had been talking for the better part of two hours and, once Kurt had managed to secure a last-minute ticket on the delayed New York flight and get through security, he and Blaine had met in the departures hall to get the promised coffee.

"I would never have pinned you for the private school type." Kurt commented, taking a sip of his nonfat mocha with relish. Blaine had been right; this _was_ the best duty free coffee he had tasted. Maybe it had something to do with being Italian coffee and not the usual watery stuff served up by most cheap American cafés. If you wanted a decent coffee, you had to pay for it – that was one of the first things that Kurt had learnt about New York.

"I actually started out at public school. But there were some...problems...and I had to transfer." he explained, eyes on regulation blue carpet. Kurt gathered that it was a bit of a sore spot and debated whether he should probe further. He continued carefully.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, some kids at my old school tried to make life difficult for me. I got over it with time, but it was goodbye public school and hello private institution from then on. I liked it, though. I made some really good friends." A comfortable silence fell between them for a few moments. "So what about you?"

"What about me?" Kurt asked, feigning obliviousness. He absent-mindedly played with the rim of his coffee cup, rolling the paper edge between his fingers.

"What about your school days? Any sordid tales to tell?"

Kurt snorted, loudly.

"I hardly think you could call them sordid. It's just you regular small town high school stuff. Nothing particularly exciting to tell."

"You're lying."

"No I'm not!" Kurt retorted.

"Yes, you are. I told you my embarrassing stories, it's only fair you share one of yours to make it even." Blaine sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "Your choice."

"Well, I did get drunk and threw up on my school's guidance counsellor once."

"_Seriously?_"

"Seriously. The worst part was that she suffered from severe OCD and had to go to the hospital to get several decontamination showers afterwards. It's not one of my proudest moments, to say the least."

"What did you _drink_?" Blaine's curiousness was barely masked by his horrified fascination, and Kurt flushed from his forehead to his neck. He would have sworn his eyes shone mischievously.

"Oh God, I don't even know. It tasted evil, like old socks and the stuff my stepmom uses to clean the bathroom. And sheep dip."

"How do you know what sheep dip tastes like?" Blaine was mocking him now, teasing, his smile a smirk – albeit, a very cute smirk. _Stop it, Kurt_.

"Really, Blaine? That's your question about all of that?"

"It's a legitimate question."

"Of course it is." Kurt retorted, his voice thick with playful sarcasm.

"Okay, all right. New question. How long have you lived in New York?"

"Since graduating high school. I went to college there and just...never wanted to leave. You?"

"Three years. I lived with my brother in Los Angeles for a while, but I decided that I wanted a change of scenery and I chose the Big Apple. I needed a fresh start. My parents divorced in my Senior year of high school and things got tense."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Kurt said, genuinely meaning it. His mother had died young, but his father had married someone new when Kurt was sixteen and he couldn't imagine them ever getting divorced. His dad and Carole seemed to be made for each other, and he was sometimes envious of how happy they were together.

"It was a long time ago now, and to be honest, I was kind of glad. I never got on with my dad, but I'm close to my mom and it sort of gave me an excuse to spend more time with her without my dad interfering." Blaine replied. "D'you want some more coffee?"

"No thanks, I'm good."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the hustle and bustle around them as people came and went. No matter what time of day it was, no matter how quiet it seemed, an airport would always be busy in some place or another. Kurt smiled as a little girl in a purple dress proudly showed her mother a picture she had drawn on a spare piece of paper, no doubt a trick to keep her occupied during the long wait.

Blaine suddenly checked his watch and his eyes widened comically.

"Crap, I gotta go. I gotta get ready for the flight, it should be coming in in about an hour." His face was apologetic. "Sorry, duty calls. D'you mind?"

"No, no, you go get ready. I'll just sit here watching...people. Not like a stalker though, just, you know, how people normally watch other people..." _What the hell are you talking about? You sound crazy. _

_I'm only crazy around Blaine_, he thought to himself, and the impact of this realisation hit him like speeding truck. Blaine made him nervous. He made him say stupid and embarrassing things.

And he most definitely had a crush on him. An actual, fully-blown, teenage-girl style crush.

"I'll see you in an hour, then. I really liked talking to you."

"The feeling's mutual." Kurt promised, and he knew it was. It really was.

"See you, then."

"Bye."

Kurt absolutely did not watch his ass the entire time he was walking away. Absolutely not.

* * *

Several hours later when he finally landed back in New York, exhausted and worn out, Kurt made to take off his (very expensive) jeans when he noticed something small and folded sticking out of one of the pockets.

It was another napkin, written on in the same green ink as the first. There was a row of numbers scrawled along the bottom followed by a simple message.

_Call me. You know, if you want. I'll be waiting._

* * *

_**A/N: As you can see, said random plot twist gave me ample opportunity for some one-on-one time between Kurt and Blaine. Will Kurt call him? What will happen next? When will they meet again? Well, that's for me to know and you to find out...when I post the next chapter, that is :) In the meantime, please leave a review since I love to know what you think! Or you can leave a comment/feedback/ask a question about the story on my tumblr (likesboyswholikeboys)**  
_


	3. November: Barcelona

_**A/N: This chapter is based around one of my favourite places, Barcelona, and it was strongly inspired by "Little Numbers" by heartwolf, which is why it's a little different from the first two.**_

**_A note on language for this chapter: Barcelona is in the Catalunya region of Spain and therefore uses both Catalan and Spanish as official languages. The translations in this chapter therefore use Catalan and Spanish. The first translation is Catalan with the Spanish underneath. _**

**_Also, see if you can spot the references to "Blame It On the Alcohol" and "Mash-Off" in this chapter. _**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**November: Barcelona**

"Have you called him yet?"

Kurt heaved a heavy sigh. It had been exactly two weeks and four days since he had last seen Blaine and he had given him his cellphone number written on a napkin in green ink, and Kurt had lost his mind.

"No, Rachel, I haven't."

"And why, may I ask, have you not called him like I told you to?" Rachel demanded on the other end of the line.

"Because it's...it's...Rachel, it's complicated. You wouldn't understand." Kurt paced the length of his bedroom with the phone held close to his ear, his free hand fidgeting nervously with the hem of his shirt. He didn't even know why he'd called Rachel in the first place.

_Oh yeah, I know why. I called her because I thought I'd get a relatively sane conversation that for once might just not involve her ridiculously extravagant wedding plans, and that's coming from me._

"What is there to understand? You like him, he's obviously into you, just _call_ him, Kurt. If you don't, I will steal his cell phone number and I will call him myself on your behalf."

"He's _a flight attendant_, Rachel. A flight attendant I only see once a month."

"A flight attendant you _like_. And don't lie to me Kurt, I know you do."

Kurt sighed again. Sometimes, he feared Rachel knew him just a little too well. Sitting on the end of his bed, he crossed and then uncrossed his legs, debating what to say next. He could practically _hear_ Rachel breathing on the other end of the line.

"Are you still there?" Rachel asked.

"Yes."

"Are you in your room?" _Why is she asking me that?_ Kurt wondered irritably.

"Yes..."

"Do you work for _Vogue_?"

"Rachel, do you have amnesia? You _know_ I work for _Vogue_." _This is very confusing. And weird. Even for Rachel._. Kurt fidgeted with a loose thread on the duvet as he spoke, trying to keep all thoughts of Blaine from his mind.

"Just answer the question, Kurt!" she barked, sounding less like his old high school friend and more like a German drill sergeant.

"Yes, I do."

"Are you going to call him?"

"Yes – I mean no – dammit Rachel!" Kurt huffed, cursing himself for his slip of the tongue – that Rachel had tricked him into, nonetheless. "Look, I have some stuff to do for work, I need to take a look at some samples for next week's coverage on how to wear _paisley_ of all fabrics so I really need to get going..."

"Kurt, listen to me. What's the worst that can happen? Look at Jesse and I. If I hadn't called him two years ago asking to meet up the next time he was in New York, we would never have found each other again and I definitely wouldn't be as happy as I am now. Do you see?"

"Not really."

"Kurt, you're being deliberately difficult." she accused.

"No, I'm not. I'm being _realistic_." he retorted.

"He _gave _you his _cellphone_ number, he _wants_ you to call him. At the very least you'll hurt his feelings if you don't. He obviously likes you. And you, you like him too, I have said this many times and it just gets truer every time I say it."

He hated it when Rachel was so obviously right. Because she was. He liked Blaine, _really_ liked him, and longed to see him again. Yes, Kurt Hummel _longed_ for someone, quite possibly for the first time in his life. Finn didn't count.

Why else would he have been fighting so hard to be chosen to take a group of new interns to Barcelona for two weeks for an orientation into European fashion from one of the world's richest cultural cities? He would be lying if he hadn't partly tried for the position because it meant seeing Blaine on his outbound and inbound flights. At least, he hoped he would.

"Are you still there?" Rachel demanded again.

"_Yes_." He was getting rather bored of this conversation and he searched his frazzled mind frantically for a plausible distraction, or at the very least a good enough excuse to get Rachel out of his hair. He found none.

"Call him."

And then she hung up. She fucking hung up on him. _Damn you, Rachel Berry and your deviousness_.

He huffed out a large breath and watched as a loose strand of hair blew up into the air in front of his face. Kicking off his socks unceremoniously and for once not really caring where in the room they landed, he flopped down onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. _As if the paintwork has any answers_, he scoffed to himself. _Nothing has any answers in my life any more._

_Well, that was a bit philosophical._

On the one hand, he really did want to call Blaine. To hear his low, warm voice and imagine what his facial expressions were as he spoke. He wanted to talk to him and learn more about him, what he liked to eat for breakfast, what brand of shoes he wore, what his apartment was like.

_Oh God, I want to see the inside of his apartment. I'm a stalker. _

Drumming his fingertips on his chest, he turned over the many consequences of calling Blaine in his mind. Calling him would mean admitting that there was an attraction, which would mean admitting that Kurt was smitten, which would _then_ mean admitting he was interested in Blaine.

And whilst he _would_ admit to an almighty schoolgirl crush, he would not admit that he was full-on interested in him, as in someone with whom he would like to go on a date, just yet.

But maybe Rachel was right. What _was_ the worst that could happen? It would only take a few minutes of his time to call. Wasn't it worth it just to see what might be "out there", as his father would usually say to him? _You need to see what's "out there", Kurt. You're too...sheltered. You live in New York, why can't you live a little?_

He wasn't even sure what "out there" was, but it was worth a try. Wasn't it?

Acting quickly before he could change his mind, he sprang up off the bed, not really caring that the bedspread was now rumpled and uneven, and grabbed the napkin from his nightstand. (And no, he hadn't kept it there for stalker-type reasons...he simply hadn't had anywhere else to put it). Without hesitating, he picked his cellphone up from where he'd left it on the carpet earlier – he would have used the landline telephone but he much preferred his cellphone – squinted at the handwriting on the napkin and dialled Blaine's number before he could catch a breath.

It rang. Once, twice, three times, four times. Kurt swore that his heart would jump out of his chest, it was beating so hard. Five, six, seven, eight...

_Oh my God, what if he doesn't pick up and it goes to his voicemail? What do I do?I've never prepared for this!_

Nine, ten, eleven...

And then the voicemail clicked on and Kurt could have sank into the ground there and then because they didn't teach you how to do stuff like this in high school – or college, for that matter.

_Hey, it's Blaine here, I obviously can't get to my cell right now so leave a message and I'll call you back later!_

Just hearing his voice on the cheerful voicemail message made Kurt freeze with nerves and at the same time, crowds of butterflies seemed to fill every organ in his body, and his veins seemed to hum with excitement and anticipation.

Kurt then realised that he should probably leave a message for Blaine – but what should he say? He floundered for a moment, racking his brain for something calm, cool, but interesting and made it sound like he was interest_ed_ in seeing Blaine again. Which he was.

Oh boy, he was.

"Hi! It's Kurt here, you must be out or something or you don't have your cellphone on you, so I'm just leaving a message...I'm sorry, I don't really know what to say. I'm not accustomed to leaving messages on the phones of strangers. Not that we're really strangers, I suppose." A nervous laugh. _Oh God_.

"So...I just wanted to call and say hi and um, you can call me back...if I'm at work you can leave a message on my cellphone, my number is-" _Why is this so hard?_

There was a lot of shuffling and crackling on the other end of the line and then a voice echoed loud and clear in Kurt's ear.

"Hello? Are you still there? Kurt? Sorry, I was out, I just got in and I heard your message, my cell does this weird thing like a normal telephone where it speaks the message out loud so I heard it just as I came through the door, I hope I'm not too late to answer..."

Blaine had picked up his cellphone and was babbling on the other end of the line. Kurt thought it was quite endearing, but now he was more nervous than ever.

"No, you're not too late. I'm here." Kurt said, trying to remember how to breathe normally without drawing in too much air through his nose and sounding like a rampaging bull.

"Oh. That's-that's great! Hi!" A pause. "I was hoping you would call...is that weird?"

"No, not at all. I'd hoped I'd be brave enough to call you, and I was. Sorry, I'm nervous. I can't believe I'm admitting that. I work for _Vogue_, I'm head of my department, and I'm _nervous_. Please don't judge me!"

"Why would I judge you?" The sincerity in his voice stopped Kurt in his tracks for a moment.

"Because I'm a nervous wreck?" Kurt offered.

"No, you're not. You just think you are." Blaine insisted. "You sound perfectly fine to me."

This was news to Kurt. "I do?"

"Yes, you do. You know, I think you need to stop worrying so much about things." Blaine said this matter-of-factly, as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"You do, do you?" asked Kurt, teasing.

"Yes. You remind me of my friend Wes. We were at school together and he was always really..._tense_, never broke a rule, always sticking to instructions. It's not surprising he graduated from Harvard Law and became a district attorney – one of the best. Do you see my point?" he explained in his usual light and friendly tone, but Kurt got the feeling that he was saying more than he was letting on, in a more serious way than he intended.

"I should be more adventurous?" Kurt suggested. That's what he was saying, wasn't it? Mind you, he was a flight attendant. He flew from country to country all day every day and probably saw places and people that Kurt had only dreamed of seeing.

"Yes, you should. You work in fashion, that's got to need some level of imagination and creativity, right? Something I'm sure you have plenty of. You just need to use that in your personal life, too."

"What are you, Dr. Phil?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he inwardly cursed himself for being careless. _Why is it I always lose control of my power of speech when I'm talking to Blaine? _

"Nope. Just Blaine. Although I do have a music theory and performance degree from Julliard."

_Julliard? He went to Julliard? _

"You went to Julliard?" Kurt asked, slightly confused. He crossed over to the large window on the other side of the bedroom and watched the people pass by on the side walk beneath his apartment, wondering if Blaine had been one of them and he just hadn't realised it.

"Yes, I went to Julliard!" Blaine laughed. "Why are you so surprised?"

"I don't know. I just never pictured you as a music guy, I guess."

"You're thinking about how I could have ended up as a flight attendant, aren't you?"

"Dammit, you caught me!" Kurt said, faking defeat."I hope you don't think that's rude."

"I don't think it's rude. I get asked that a lot. Mostly by my own family, but still." Was Kurt imagining the bitterness he heard in Blaine's voice? "They don't think it's suitable for me to be a flight attendant. Or at least, my father doesn't. Mom doesn't mind as much and I don't think my brother cares at all."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Kurt said, with meaning. "My dad was the Congressman of Ohio for a few years but now he just does his regular job as a mechanic, he owns the same tyre shop he's had since before I was born. I was never really rich growing up but I didn't mind, he's always been supportive of me. My stepbrother's a drumming teacher in California, he has been since he pulled out of the US army a few years ago."

"Your family sounds a lot more exciting than mine."

"Trust me, they're not. But I love them." This, Kurt said with genuine feeling.

As much as Finn drove him up the wall and his father was constantly finding ways to deceive his health regimen (implemented by Kurt himself with all the authority of a Middle Eastern dictator) with his stepmother chiding him for disobeying the doctor's orders, he wouldn't trade them for anything. It saddened him somewhat to hear that Blaine's family life wasn't so harmonious. He remembered that his parents were divorced; he had told him that the time they'd had coffee together in the airport in Milan.

There was a not entirely uncomfortable silence between them for a few moments. Kurt watched as a few droplets of rain began to sneak down the window and he let out a tiny sigh. Rain in New York. Then again, it _was_ October.

"What are you thinking about?" Blaine's voice brought him out of his contemplative reverie with a start.

"How do you know I'm thinking about anything?" Kurt challenged, an edge of playfulness to his voice.

"I can tell. I have a sixth sense."

Kurt gave a loud, fake gasp. "You see dead people?"

"You've seen _The Sixth Sense_?" Blaine retorted.

"Fair enough, you win." Kurt sighed.

"I didn't know we were playing a game."

It was so easy to talk to Blaine. He felt like a long-lost friend with whom he'd reconnected, someone he'd known for a long time. He knew that that was impossible; he'd never met him before now. But that's what it felt like. It was a lot less frustrating than talking to Rachel and much less mind-numbing than making conversation with Finn, and definitely more fun than awkward office parties and social functions which Kurt was forced to attend out of status within the company.

He vividly recalled his first office function, in which he had been so nervous, he drank most of the open bar within the first two hours and had to be carried to his car by one of the interns. He visibly shuddered with the memory.

Miraculously, he managed to keep his job.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but my food is ready and I'm starving, so I hope you don't mind that I'm going to go now." Blaine said, sounding so apologetic that Kurt almost laughed.

"Really, Blaine? You're ditching me for food?" he joked, crossing the room again and fussing with the pillows on his bed, even though he didn't really need to.

"Hey, I've had a hard day! You can't hold it against me for that."

"I'm sure I can find a way."

"Okay, I _really_ have to go. But...can I call you another time? I mean, if you want me to. I'd really like to call you."

"Then you can. I'll be waiting for your call, because I'd really like you to call me, too. And if I call you, make sure you're at home next time or at least have your cell with you so I don't have to struggle with the alien territory of voicemail messages." Kurt said.

"I'll make sure of it, just for you. So that you don't have to struggle with the alien territory of voicemail messages."Blaine replied.

"Bye, then."

"Bye."

"I'm glad I called you." Kurt said.

"And I'm glad you called." was the reply. Kurt allowed himself a smile, even though he knew that Blaine couldn't see it.

Kurt pressed the "End Call" button, feeling somewhat saddened at the loss of Blaine's voice. He only hoped that he was scheduled to travel abroad sometime soon in the hope that he might see him again and talk in person.

* * *

Kurt's hopes came true in just a few days.

His assistant, a blonde girl called Victoria of whom he was rather fond, informed him that arrangements had been made for him to fly to Barcelona the following week to view a new collection being launched by an up-and-coming Catalan designer from the city.

Kurt couldn't have been happier. Although, he refrained from squealing out loud in front of Victoria when she passed on the message; because even though he was quite obviously very smitten with Blaine, he didn't want to embarrass himself.

He did, however, allow himself a little dance in his seat once Victoria had left.

A very mature, adult dance.

But honestly, Kurt was looking forward to this trip immensely, not just because of the strong prospect of seeing Blaine. Barcelona was one of the cities on his "Must Visit" list – a list he had been compiling since high school – and hadn't yet found the opportunity to go. The timing could not have been more perfect.

He would be there for a week, as per usual, as the exhibition of the collection would begin on a Tuesday and run for five days before the closing function at the end of the week. That, he wasn't looking forward to so much.

_But I get to go to one of my favourite places and I might see Blaine again_, he reasoned. _So it doesn't matter so much that I have to stick it out at some fashion industry function. I'll just make sure to stay away from the wine this time._

* * *

The following week could not have arrived fast enough. After checking, double-checking and triple-checking the travel arrangements and all relevant documentation (he was nothing if not thorough) he was ready to depart from New York JFK to Barcelona Aiport (BCN). He prayed that everything would go to plan and that he wouldn't be stranded in a foreign airport again.

He arrived at JFK on time and immediately checked in his luggage. He had been given a pass that would allow him "speedy check in and boarding" which meant that he wouldn't have to wait in ridiculously long queues and he would have priority seating. _Maybe this time I'll actually get something in first class. I've always wanted to know what travelling in first class was like_.

Of course, because of the fast check-in he hadn't anticipated the fact that he would be waiting longer in the boarding lounge. _Dammit_. _What am I supposed to do for three hours? _He wished he'd thought to pack a book or something in his hand luggage to keep him occupied.

On the plus side, he _did_ get a seat in first class. And he got to gloat to Rachel about it via text message, something he hadn't been able to do in a long time. Which was obviously a very important bonus.

Tapping his foot exasperatedly, he settled for his usual habit of watching the people in the airport go about their business. A fat woman with a tartan handbag was wrestling a toddler into a blue jacket he clearly did not want to wear. A young couple were checking their travellers checks and passports close by. The boarding staff were busy preparing the gate for the passengers, striding up and down in their neatly pressed uniforms.

They certainly didn't remind him of a certain someone who wore a similar uniform (and looked better in it, too). Absolutely not.

_Okay, maybe they do a little_, he admitted to himself. _But I can't think about Blaine now. I'll get distracted_. _Though distracted from what, I don't know. _

Sighing, he crossed and uncrossed his legs and shifted in his seat. Waiting was right up there with polyester blend, flannel and most Republican politicians on his list of things he disliked strongly (he refused to use the word "hate" regardless of context, although that's what he felt towards them – hate) and the longer he had to wait, the more he disliked it.

He flicked through his travel documentation. He gulped down half a bottle of water and ate a cereal bar. He watched with barely concealed amusement as a red-faced woman tried to deal with her runaway children who were hiding behind the row of seats in front of him.

Kurt wondered randomly if he would ever have any children of his own, and if he did, what they would look like and what kind of children they would be. It was a thought which both excited and depressed him because he knew that unlike most of his straight friends, even the slightest possibility of becoming a parent was difficult. It was something he often thought about in wistful moments.

He must have been contemplating this for longer than he thought because all of a sudden there was an announcement on the PA system.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, flight 306A to Barcelona will be boarding shortly. Please ensure that you have all your personal belongings with you and your passport and boarding pass ready to present to the staff at the boarding gate. Thank you_."

Immediately gathering his things, he jumped up from his seat and joined the end of the boarding queue – or rather, the front, since the queue wasn't long enough for there to really be an end. He knew that with his first class seat he would get priority boarding and would be able to enter the plane before the regular passengers in economy class. Sue him if he was going to enjoy his air travel status and make the most of it.

He presented the relevant documents to the overly smiley woman at the boarding gate who checked his passport and nodded in the affirmative, letting him know silently that he was free to board. From his travel experiences he realised that boarding staff never talked very much; they just checked your passport and sent you on your way. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Kurt let out a little squeal when he saw the first class suite. _Was it a suite? _He thought. _I'm calling it a suite_. For your average international airline it was lavishly decorated, with twice the amount of legroom in front of the seats and extra-large overheard compartments. The fabric covering the seats was a deep red, so very different from the ugly blue of the seats in economy class, and were wider and more spacious. _I'm definitely going to like travelling in first class. I might even find a way to make it a permanent fixture_.

_I may have to kill a few people at work to get there, though._

He found his seat with ease and relished the comfort as he stretched out as much as he could. Being tall for a man, his long legs were usually difficult to accommodate for and this was something akin to bliss. For once his knees weren't jammed up somewhere in the region of his nostrils, for which he was _extremely_ grateful. One of these days he was going to curse the man (or woman) who decided that airplane seats had to be as tiny as possible so that only a nine year old could fit into them comfortably.

_Thank God for first class._

He also noticed that there were only two seats in each aisle on either side, making the likelihood of being squashed in by two other people much less of a possibility. _Excellent._

All he wanted now was for Blaine to pass by on his way to the front cabin so that he could catch his eye and let him know he was there. Yes, Kurt Hummel was using Flirting 101 in the most basic sense so that there could be some kind of communication between them.

Yes, he felt slightly embarrassed about it. But he decided he didn't really care if it brought him into contact with Blaine. He only hoped it would work.

A few minutes went by and the plane started to fill up with passengers. He could hear the noisy chatter coming from the open doors as the attendants directed people to their seats and helped them put their luggage in the overhead compartments. Kurt strained his ears to see if he could catch a sound of Blaine's melodic voice, but could hear nothing. He tried not to let his disappointment show on his face as he politely greeted the person sliding into the seat next to him.

And then did a double take and almost screamed.

It was Blaine.

"Are you following me?" was all he could manage to say around the shock that dried out his throat and brought a very (un)attractive red hue to his face. He could feel the warmth of his body pressed against side and _oh God, our feet are almost touching. I am almost touching the feet of a very good looking man who I happen to like very, very much_.

Blaine's face fell and Kurt immediately felt guilty for sounding so accusatory.

"Is it too much? I thought I would surprise you. I saw you sitting here and there was an empty seat, so I thought it would be okay to join you. I can find somewhere else to sit if you want."

"No, no, that's okay! Don't leave. I was just surprised, that's all. I was expecting you to be in your uniform giving orders."

"If I'd have known you'd be on this flight I would have told you, I promise. I wasn't trying to sneak up on you." Blaine insisted, and Kurt felt even more guilty.

"I know you weren't. It's actually a really nice surprise." Kurt replied with a smile. He looked down. "Nice shoes."

"Now you're just being sarcastic. A self-respecting fashion expert like yourself wouldn't like these shoes." He wiggled his foot for emphasis and Kurt couldn't help but snort at the fact that his pants stopped a few inches above his ankles, as if they were too short.

"They suit you." Kurt said.

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not!"

Blaine raised one of his thick eyebrows in Kurt's direction.

"Fine. I was lying." Kurt admitted. "They're hideous. Why do you wear them?"

"I like them."

"Really?" Kurt asked sceptically.

"Yes, really!" Blaine exclaimed. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes." Kurt deadpanned.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be departing for Barcelona. Please ensure that your seatbelts are securely fastened and all times and that you remain in your seat during take off until the plane has made the full climb of 37,000ft. We wish you a comfortable and enjoyable flight."_

_**"Senyores i senyors, de poc sortirem per Barcelona. Assegureu-vos que els seus cinturons de seguretat estiguin ben fixades i tots els temps i que romangui en el seu seient durant l'enlairament fins que l'avió ha fet de la pujada total de 37.000 peus Li desitgem un vol agradable i confortable."**_

**"Damas y caballeros, de poco vamos a salir para Barcelona. Por favor, asegúrese de que sus cinturones de seguridad estén bien fijadas y todos los tiempos y que permanezca en su asiento durante el despegue hasta que el avión ha hecho de la subida total de 37.000 pies Le deseamos un vuelo agradable y confortable. "**

"You know, this is the first time in a long time I've been on a plane as a passenger and not as a flight attendant." Blaine said.

"How come?"

"I never had the time, or the money. The last time I was a passenger I was flying to New York to get a fresh start at Julliard. I haven't been on a plane as a passenger since." he explained. Was that sadness Kurt detected, or was he hearing things?

The body of the plane began to rumble as the pilot prepared for take off. This part of the flight always felt strange to Kurt, as if he were lying on a vibrating mattress or in the body of a huge, snoring beast.

"So how come you're travelling to Barcelona now?" Kurt asked. "Holiday? I would think that you see plenty of amazing places as a flight attendant."

"I don't usually get to stop and look around. That time we were in Milan, I got lucky because the flight I was due to travel back on got delayed, remember? It's not often I get time to see the sights, I'm usually back on the next plane home." Blaine shrugged. "But I like attending on flights. You meet lots of pretty great people." He smiled at Kurt.

"I'm sure you do." Kurt replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. But it was increasingly difficult as Blaine looked at him with bright eyes and warm smile which made Kurt feel all..._tingly_. He, a grown man, was feeling all _tingly_ whilst talking to another grown man. "You still haven't told me why you're going to Barcelona."

"I needed a break. My apartment in Queens was getting a little too comfortable and I wanted a change of scenery." Blaine replied.

"How long are you staying for?" _I hope I can see you_.

"Just until Friday, not long. It's only a short break. It's all I can afford at the moment." Kurt should have felt uncomfortable with someone who was practically almost very nearly a stranger sharing personal information with him, but because it was Blaine, he didn't really mind. He felt trusted.

He liked it.

"I'm sorry." Kurt said.

"Don't apologise. I don't really mind not having a lot of money. It makes a change from when I was growing up."

"Wait, you don't like being rich? Isn't that kind of...backward?" Kurt's brows furrowed in confusion. _Why would someone prefer to have less money? _Growing up in a working class family, Kurt knew the hardships of low income and was extremely grateful that his job and status allowed him a more than comfortable standard of living.

"I didn't want to be the same kind of person as my father. I like living simple."

"But you're a flight attendant." Kurt pointed out.

"A lot of what I earn goes to pay for my mom's healthcare bills. She's not been too well for a while now."

"What about your brother? Didn't you say he was an actor?" _I'm prying, I should stop_.

"He doesn't really care." Blaine suddenly straightened up in his seat and rubbed a hand across his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go on and on about my problems. You probably think I'm crazy."

"It's not crazy." Kurt said softly. "My dad's been sick too, when I was in high school. He had a pretty bad heart attack."

"Was he okay?"

"Yeah, he was fine after a while. But it scared me, and I devoted most of my junior year to caring for him after that. He told me not too, but I just knew that I had to, for his sake." Kurt explained.

"I know how that feels."

They sat in silence after that. They were in the air now, travelling at hundreds of miles an hour and heading towards Europe. People came and went by them, but neither man took any notice of who or what was surrounding them. Kurt and Blaine both were lost in their own little worlds, as if in a bubble where only the two of them existed.

Kurt had felt this sensation before. Like they were the only two people that mattered. He knew it was silly to feel like that because they'd only just met three months ago and hardly ever saw each other, but ever since he'd called Blaine and left that embarrassingly nervous message on his cellphone, and he'd picked up on the other end, but he couldn't help what he felt. _I really like him_, Kurt thought. _A lot_. _Possibly even more than I used to like Finn, and _that_ is saying something_.

Three months was ample time to develop a crush on somebody, to realise you liked them. Wasn't it?

* * *

They were forced to part ways at the airport as Blaine was headed to the south of the city, whilst Kurt would be in the very centre, at the heart of the Catalan capital. Barcelona was huge; the chances of them crossing paths were limited.

After the initial quiet that had followed their conversation, they picked up where they had left off, swapping details about their lives and silly anecdotes that nobody really cared about, but they still wanted to share anyway. Kurt told Blaine all about Rachel and her upcoming nuptials to Kurt's Least Favourite Person on Earth and Blaine in turn told him about the female barista at the coffee shop he frequented in Queens who insisted on pursuing him even though he'd made it very, very clear that he was gay.

So when they parted ways at the Arrivals hall, where Kurt's taxi was waiting for him to take him into the city, it was very reluctantly that Kurt said goodbye.

"Maybe I'll see you on your flight back." Blaine said. "If I don't...I'm sure I'll see you the next time you fly somewhere."

"I hope you will. I mean, I'd like it if I did see you..." _Dammit Kurt, you really have to get a grip on your tongue._

Blaine smiled. _That stupid smile_, Kurt thought, _will be the death of me_.

"I'd like that too."

* * *

_**A/N: Don't forget to leave a review and let me know what you think! *puppy eyes***_


	4. December: Moscow

**_A/N: This is the first chapter that was fully-formed in my head when I started writing this fic, I had this planned out before any of the others apart from the epilogue, so enjoy!_  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**December: Moscow**

Moscow.

They were sending him to Moscow. In _December_.

_Are they insane?I'll die of frostbite out there!_ Kurt had fumed to himself in his office one afternoon. _I'll have to buy a whole new winter wardrobe for this_. Needless to say, he was unamused. As head of the department, he was being sent to the Russian city for three weeks – _three fucking weeks!_ - to meet with several designers who were interested in supplying for their photoshoots as well as overseeing the launch of a sister magazine showcasing Western fashion for Eastern women.

Moscow.

Could they have picked a worse destination? And around Christmas time, too? He was due to return to Ohio to spend the holidays with his family three days after his return from Russia, which left him hardly any time to pack nor prepare for the trip – he would be driving – and he knew that he would be exhausted. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the festive season for his dad and stepmom but it was inevitable. He supposed he would just have to make the most of it.

Automatically, he reached for his cellphone where it lay on his desk, and was dialling Blaine's number before he realised what he was doing and stopped himself. It had been a week since they'd last spoke on the phone, and three weeks since they had spent the flight to Barcelona together, as fellow passengers rather than passenger and attendant. _Would it look desperate if I called him to tell him I would be flying to Moscow in a few days? _Because he, Kurt Hummel, was not desperate. He didn't want to give Blaine the wrong impression.

Even if he had dreamt of him twice this week and had awoken with the sheets tangled around his waist and his heart thumping in his chest, skin hot and tingling. It was something that both thrilled and embarrassed him. Just thinking about it now brought a flush to his face as he remembered the most recent dream, in which he'd felt Blaine's tongue trace the muscles of his abdomen and graze the insides of his thighs.

_Not here!_ He thought wildly to himself. _Later! _

So, Moscow. As unhappy about it as he was, he couldn't let his annoyance show in front of his employees and colleagues, and therefore forced himself to appear calm and content. He even managed a vaguely sarcastic "Yes, I can't wait!" when Victoria asked him about the trip later that day.

But he wasn't any more pleased about it.

"Sorry, Dad," he told his father on the phone that evening, "I'm going to be a little late coming home for Christmas. I'm going to Moscow for three weeks and I'm only getting back a week before the holidays. I'll need a few days to recover and pack my stuff and then I'll be home, okay?"

"Sure thing, kid." was the gruff reply. Kurt couldn't help but notice the sadness in his dad's voice, which made him feel even worse. But there was absolutely no way of getting out of it so he'd just have to suck it up.

It didn't mean he had to feel good about it.

Sighing, he switched on his computer and decided to check his emails to see if anything important had come through. He wasn't due in a meeting for another half an hour so he had time to spare. _Might as well see what junk is waiting for me to sift through in my inbox_.

After searching through some scam mail, junk, and a slightly condescending email advertising "enlargement pills" which Kurt found intimidating and personally offensive, he concluded that there wasn't anything of interest in his email inbox. Other than the details of his flights to and from Moscow, there was nothing worth looking at.

_Great. Now I'll just have to do nothing until the meeting, which is exactly what I wanted to do_. He tapped his fingernails on his desk, drumming random patterns that made no sense. Twice he picked up his cell as if to make a call, but changed his mind and set it back down. He flicked through a magazine on his desk. He played a few rounds of Tetris on his computer – it was a guilty pleasure, okay? - and used the bathroom.

He texted Rachel. Three times.

_What is wrong with me? Usually I can keep myself busy 24 hours a day but now I can't seem to muster the energy to do anything at all_.

Of course, he knew the problem. He just didn't want to admit it to himself.

Blaine.

Blaine was the problem. Even when Kurt wasn't trying, he thought about him. He thought about his friendly voice and expressive eyes and wildly curly hair that always seemed to be rebelling against its owner no matter what he attempted to do. He thought about his kindness and the way he seemed genuinely concerned for Kurt.

He hadn't met anyone quite like him in a long time.

His cellphone suddenly beeped and vibrated on his desk, a loud, insistent noise that left a ringing in his ears.

"I've really got to change that tone." he muttered through gritted teeth as he hastened to check who it was that was calling him.

For a split second, he hopedit would be Blaine. No, he _wanted_ it to be Blaine. _This is madness. This is insane!_

It was Rachel.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. She's probably calling me to complain about that tiny redhead wedding planner she employed – against my will, I might add. Damn. _

"Yes, Rachel?" he sighed.

"Kurt, I have to fire Alice. She is driving me _crazy_ and I want to _kill her_!" Rachel shrieked down the phone, her voice rising a few octaves higher than normal. Alice was the wedding planner she had hired – when Kurt had precisely told her not to and suggested going with someone he knew through work who was very reputable and well-respected.

But no. Rachel Berry would not listen. And now she was paying the price.

"Do you really want to commit first-degree murder with the wedding six months away? I wouldn't want to be saying my vows through a plastic partition through a telephone connected to the wall if I were you." Kurt replied.

"I don't need your sass today, Kurt, okay? Alice is a _maniac_ and I am going to strangle her with the handmade paper chains I requested for the reception!"

"I think you're mistaking me for someone who cares, Rachel. Look, I'm really busy, so just call me later, okay? And don't fire Alice. Or kill her." Kurt said.

"Fine." Rachel huffed. "But you won't be so quick to judge when I un-invite you from my wedding."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I know you won't do that."

"And why not?" Rachel demanded.

"Because I know all your secrets. The good ones and the bad ones. And if you un-invite me I'll just send a mass mail to everyone we know and tell them about certain..._events_ in your life that you'd rather have no-one know about." Kurt knew it was cruel, but it had to be done. It was the only way to keep Rachel under control sometimes.

"You wouldn't dare!" Rachel retorted.

"Wouldn't I?" he asked. And then he hung up. _That's what she gets_, he thought, _for being a pain in the ass. _

She may be his best friend, and he did love her (most days), but she could really drive him round the bend. He still wasn't sure how or why he'd managed to put up with her for nearly twenty years. Of course, he was forgetting that period of middle school when they'd passionately hated each other's guts and Kurt had often dreamt about clubbing her over the head with the baseball bat the other kids swore was used by a deranged husband to kill his cheating wife.

But that was just a rumour.

Shaking his head to clear his mind of his thoughts, he contemplated calling in Victoria to see if there was anything scheduled for late afternoon because, if he was honest, he wouldn't mind going home early to his boxed sets of all 10 seasons of _Desperate Housewives_ and settling in for the night on his couch with strawberry and lime cheescake.

Yes, it was one of _those_ days. This Moscow thing and not being able to return to Ohio for the holidays as early as he had originally planned was really getting to him. He hated letting down his family, most of all his father.

They hadn't always been close. During Kurt's middle school years they'd sort of drifted apart as Kurt became more, well..._Kurt_ and his father hadn't really understood it, let alone knew how to react to it. But once Kurt turned fifteen and made the decision to tell his dad he was gay, things changed. He'd been terrified of his father's reaction; he didn't want to disappoint him. But as it turned out, Burt Hummel didn't care that his only son was gay. In fact, he had told Kurt he knew already and had simply been waiting for him to come and tell him. After that, their relationship had taken a much, much better turn.

Running his hands through his hair, Kurt absently checked the large blue clock hanging on the wall of his office. Nearly time for the meeting. _Let's hope it's short. _He wasn't the cruel, hatchet-man kind of boss but he just wasn't in the mood right now.

Deciding he might as well be early, he got up from his (rather comfortable) office chair and made to cross the room when he realised something.

The clock had stopped. It wasn't half past two, as he had originally thought. It had been like that all day and he'd just never noticed it. _Shit, shit, shit. Shit_.

Panicking, he checked his phone and realised that it was indeed almost 4pm and he was almost three quarters of an hour late for the meeting he should have been presiding over.

_Kill me now_. Grabbing his coat, several paper files and a half-eaten banana, he rushed towards the elevators outside his office door, punching the button viciously several times as if it would make the elevator arrive faster.

It didn't.

_Whoever invented elevators should have installed a high speed function_, he thought bitterly as he cursed himself over and over for being late.

He was never late. For anything. Except, of course, that first flight to Paris where he had met Blaine.

* * *

He was busy sorting through his closet later that night trying to decide which of his clothes would be suitable for Moscow when his cellphone rang.

At first, he considered ignoring it. It was gone 9pm, he was tired, and just wanted to get things sorted. He couldn't explain why this bad mood had come over him so quickly, but it made him feel run down and worn out. He was, in short, fed up.

But his phone kept ringing insistently and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the loud _buzz buzz buzz_ and jingle of the ringtone. Putting down a navy winter coat that he had bought (though he would never admit this to _anyone_) at a thrift store in Brooklyn, he stomped across the room to where his phone sat vibrating on his nightstand.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, "I'll be there in a minute." He grabbed the phone and pressed Call, not even bothering to check caller ID. If it was an anonymous serial killer or something he'd just hang up.

"Yes?"

"Woah, someone piss you off or something?" _Blaine_. Kurt immediately felt guilty for answering so rudely and tried to backtrack.

"Sorry, sorry. It's been a rough day." he apologised.

"Want to talk about it?" Blaine offered, concerned.

"Not really. I need a distraction or I'll explode." Kurt replied, pushing his free hand through his hair.

"If it makes you feel any better, I got an unpleasant visit from my father today. He came to interrogate me about my mom and whether I was taking proper care of her, which is rich coming from _him_ because they divorced years ago and for some reason he thinks he still has power over her – and me, for that matter." Blaine ranted, his voice getting angrier and angrier as he spoke. "I feel like...like I've been cheated. I'm the one who's been taking care of her, I'm the one who's been paying her medical bills."

A loud, fuming sigh came from the other end of the line. Kurt didn't know what to say. It sounded like both their days had been pretty shitty and neither quite knew how to comfort the other.

"Sorry, I'm dumping my personal stuff on you again. I shouldn't do that, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. I often find ranting therapeutic." Kurt said. "Though I'm mostly the bottle it up and keep it all in until it spills out kind of guy."

"You're really great." was the reply. The fondness in Blaine's voice made Kurt's heart skip a beat and his face coloured even though he knew that Blaine couldn't see him.

"I don't think so." Kurt protested.

"Why not?" The question confused Kurt. Nobody had asked him before _why_ he didn't feel he was the most perfect person. Quite frankly he found it awkward because he never told anybody his personal issues or feelings, except for his father and occasionally Carole. He wasn't sure how to answer a question like this.

"Just...nobody's told me that before. It took me by surprise, I didn't know what else to say." _Okay, so that's a lie. I just lied to _Blaine_ and now I feel really bad. But I can't tell him the truth, he'll think I'm weird or insane and he won't want to spend time with me again._

A laugh. "That's okay. I was just curious because I really like you and I wanted to know if you realise what a great person you are."

"Really?"

"Really. Why is that so hard to believe?" Blaine asked. He seemed genuinely curious, rather than cruel and mocking. Blaine had that tone in his voice that made Kurt want to tell him everything, but at the same time knowing that if he did, he would regret it later because he'd never trusted anyone in that way before.

"It just is." Kurt shrugged as he spoke, although he knew of course that it would go unseen. He felt all the energy drain out of him with the movement; the anger, the frustration, the self-disappointment sinking through his socked feet into the carpet and through the floorboards beneath, leaving him feeling...calm? No, not calm. Content? No, not content either. _I don't know what I feel, really_, Kurt thought.

"You don't sound very happy." It was an observation, not a question. A statement, really. One he hadn't heard in a while.

"I am. I should be."

"Then why aren't you?"

"I-I don't..." Kurt stuttered, stumbling over his words. "I don't know."

It had gotten very awkward all of a sudden. Kurt didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, I've made it awkward, haven't I? I didn't mean to get personal, I just...you sounded like you needed a friendly ear..." Blaine babbled unnecessarily, and Kurt could hear the nervousness in his voice.

"No, it's okay, it's just...I'm not used to doing this, this...honesty thing. Not even with my father." Kurt replied.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising, there's nothing to be sorry for."

"Sorry."

"Blaine!"

"Alright, alright...sorry. I can't help it!" Blaine protested. "It's like I've got Tourette's syndrome or something, but I apologise too much instead of cussing."

"Some people may find that offensive, but I for one think you might be right." Kurt joked.

"I know, it's a terrible habit. I'm trying to quit." was the laughing reply.

And all at once the cloud of awkwardness had lifted and Kurt felt at ease again, happy to talk about anything and everything with a man he'd only met three months ago.

Which should have been weird, because they'd only actually seen each other a few times, but for Kurt, it wasn't.

* * *

Kurt had finally finished his preparations for Moscow. After packing and unpacking several times throughout the following week, throwing out clothes he didn't think he'd need and checking a long list taped to the fridge that had been suggested by a colleague, he was sure that he was ready.

It didn't mean he was any happier about it than he had been the previous week.

_But alas, the show must go on. I have to do this job well to prove I'm worthy of working for _Vogue. _Even if it has been three years and I think I have personally proved myself worthy enough already_.

Then he realised that his suitcase wouldn't zip shut. Because of all the thick winter fabrics he had packed, the flap wouldn't close, even if he sat on it – which he did, numerous times, but to no avail.

_Shit. Well, this really isn't my day. _Why was it that every time he was due to travel somewhere, something had to go wrong? Was he cursed or something? Huffing loudly, he flopped back onto the bed, glaring at the offending suitcase. He pursed his lips and huffed some more.

Eventually he decided that it was no use. Although it pained him, he knew that he would have to sacrifice some of his precious winter clothes if he was to make enough room in his luggage. Some of it was brand new, hardly worn and he had been looking forward to showing it off in the icy heart of Moscow. It looked like that wasn't going to happen now.

Yanking open the case, he scrutinised its contents with a critical eye. Which to sacrifice – the Gucci brass-buttoned winter jacket, bought as an impulse buy with his first paycheck after being made Head of Fashion Buying and Merchandising, or the Alexander McQueen coat that he had had since college?

Okay, so maybe they weren't _brand new_, but they were important and he was proud to have them in his closet.

_Screw it, _he thought, _I'll leave the Gucci behind and take the Alexander McQueen. Those Russians won't know Italian fashion anyway even if it came up and bit them on the nose._

* * *

"_Ladies and gentlemen, flight Y2S3 to Moscow, Russia is now boarding. Please make your way to boarding gate 15."_

_**"Дамы и господа, полет Y2S3 в Москве, Россия в настоящее время посадки. Пожалуйста, сделайте ваш путь к выходу на посадку 15 ".**_

That was Kurt's boarding call. Gathering his possessions, he made his way to join the queue at the boarding gate. He didn't have first class this time, but maybe once was enough. Even though he had enjoyed the comfortable seating and extra legroom a _lot_.

As per usual, he presented his ticket and passport to the man at the doors and was allowed to pass through within seconds. He had never encountered any security-related trouble at an airport; he was a reliable, trustworthy air traveller.

The familiar path through the boarding tunnel into the plane had become second-nature to Kurt; travelling so much over the past few months had made him accustomed to the procedures of air travel and he found himself not even being bothered by the screaming children surrounding him, which was a first.

He found his seat with no trouble and settled down in the aisle of row 24, seat F next to a young-looking woman with red hair. Kurt leaned back in his seat, fastened his seatbelt and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

He was awoken some time later by the sound of his cellphone buzzing loudly in his pocket. It hummed and vibrated against his thigh as he rubbed at his sleep-crusted eyes and pulled it out of his pocket. Squinting at the screen, he pressed _Read message_. It appeared to be from Finn.

_Kurt, Burt's in the hospital. He had another heart attack. It's pretty bad but the doctor says he's stable, whatever that means. I don't know any more. I'll keep you posted_.

Kurt felt as though all the wind had been knocked out of him.

He couldn't breathe.

A horrible noise of anguish died in his throat as his whole body began to shake outside of his control and his eyes burned with the tears that were sure to spill out any second. His chest ached as he inhaled and he felt sick to his stomach.

His father was in the hospital. He'd had another heart attack, worse than the first one. He was in the _hospital_ and Kurt was thousands upon thousands of feet up in the air on his way to fucking _Moscow_ whilst his father was in critical condition hundreds of miles away in Ohio.

He wanted to throw up. He thought he might. But it would hardly expel the fear and the anxiety that closed around his throat and his mind and his heart.

He needed some privacy.

Still trembling, he put his phone back into his pocket and unfastened his seatbelt, standing up shakily, forcing the tears back as they seared behind his eyelids. He mumbled weak apologies as he squeezed past the people walking up and down the aisles and slipped into the tiny airplane bathroom, locking the door behind him.

The cramped space was cool and blocked out the hustle and bustle from the passengers outside the door. He sat himself down on the toilet and put his face in his hands, drawing deep, gasping breaths as the tears finally escaped and trickled down his cheeks, his chest heaving. It hurt to simply make the effort to breathe.

He couldn't lose his father. He just couldn't. He was his only remaining biological parent and to lose him would mean losing his last remaining blood tie to his family.

He couldn't die. He just couldn't. And the worst part was, Kurt couldn't do anything about it because he was on a _fucking_ plane, in the sky, on the way to Russia. It would be several hours before they landed in Moscow and several more hours until he could call _Vogue_ back in New York and tell them that he had a family emergency and would need to be excused from work.

But he couldn't do that right now and that's what killed him.

There came a soft knock on the bathroom door.

"There's someone in here!" he called, his voice thin and wavering and thick with tears. He furiously tried to wipe his eyes, but only more tears welled in their place.

There was a scuffle outside the door and, a few moments later, a folded piece of paper was pushed underneath, through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor of the plane. Kurt's heart fluttered as he recognised it for what it was.

Sniffing loudly, he bent to pick up the note and unfolded it. The ink was blue this time but the handwriting was familiar. _Of course it's familiar. It's from Blaine_.

_Can I come in? You look like you could need some comfort. If you don't mind. _

Kurt thought about this for a moment. He was upset, _still_ shaking like a leaf, red-faced and blotchy and, in the non-blotchy areas, white as a ghost. Did he really want Blaine to see him like this?

The answer was yes. Yes, he did. Because he _was_ upset, he _was_ hurt, he _was_ worried and devastated and anxious and he just really, really needed some comfort from a friend. _Well, someone that I would like to be more than a friend, but that's not going to happen_, he thought to himself.

He reached across and unlocked the door, sliding it open just an inch, allowing him to let Blaine know that he was welcome.

It was even more cramped inside the tiny room when Blaine slid in, standing in front of Kurt who remained crouched rather uncomfortably on the toilet, but right now he didn't really care. It was just lucky that Blaine was smaller than an average man and fit better in the small space than Kurt did.

"What's wrong?" he asked, locking the door behind them so that no one could interrupt.

Kurt felt the emotion build up again in his chest as he fought to find the words that would explain his situation. He shook his head, putting a hand over his mouth, unable to speak. Kurt watched as the expression in Blaine's vibrant eyes changed from concern to real sympathy and genuine sadness, and also confusion, for of course he didn't know what had made Kurt so upset.

"My dad had a heart attack. Another one. And he's in the hospital but I can't get home and it's three weeks before Christmas and I'm stuck on the way to Moscow whilst he's in critical condition and...and...I..." Kurt blurted, barely able to take a breath as yet more tears streamed down his face.

"Oh my God...Kurt, I'm so sorry..." Blaine offered, feeling as if he was unable to do anything to help the situation. "How bad is it?" Blaine asked, swallowing loudly.

"Worse than the first one he had, but he's stable so he should be okay, for now at least..." Kurt replied, hands floundering in the air. Blaine caught one of them and held it in his own, gently squeezing Kurt's fingers in a show of affection and sympathy.

"He'll be alright." Blaine said.

"I hope so, God, I hope so..." Kurt sobbed, rubbing his hands across his wet cheeks, trying to dry off the tears.

Blaine knelt down in front of Kurt, so close that his knees bumped the toes of Kurt's fine leather shoes. He didn't let go of his hand and Kurt felt himself getting warm and slightly fuzzy-feeling as his mind focused on the feel of Blaine's smooth skin against his. His calloused fingertips were rough against his fingers but it was comforting rather than uncomfortable.

"Listen to me, Kurt. He'll be alright. The last thing, the worst thing, that you can do right now is panic and worry yourself too much. It won't help anyone if you get upset about this. I know it sounds ridiculous and cliché but...you need to stay positive." Blaine said, his voice low and caring and Kurt felt himself smiling slightly despite the ache in his heart.

"T-thanks." he stammered, eyes watering. "I feel like an idiot crying in front of you, I'm a grown man, I shouldn't burden you with this..." he started, but Blaine shushed him almost immediately.

"It's nothing. Like I said, I like you a lot, like a _lot_, a lot. I care about you, even though that sounds outrageous considering we've only met a handful of times."

"Four times." Kurt said. "Not that I'm counting." He gave a weak, watery laugh.

"Not that you're counting." Blaine emphasised.

Kurt looked up, and he realised just how close Blaine was. He could see the firm smoothness of his cheek and the precise angle of his nose. He could see each individual long, sweeping eyelash and the bright sparkle of his eyes.

Kurt was overcome once more and ducked his head to allow a few stray tears to drip onto his (expensive) jeans.

Blaine extended an finger and tipped Kurt's chin up so that they were in each other's direct line of sight. Kurt felt it when Blaine inhaled deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing along the column of his throat. He looked nervous.

"Stay positive, okay? It'll be fine." Blaine said. His voice was breathy and Kurt could hear a tremor as he spoke. "It'll be fine."

Was it just him, or did he sound like he was trying to reassure himself as well as reassure Kurt?

And then Kurt realised why when he felt a pair of soft, warm, gentle lips on his, a feather-light tongue stroking the seam of his mouth, and teeth lightly nibbling his bottom lip as Blaine's mouth moved skilfully yet apprehensively against his. A pleasant warmth flooded Kurt's body from his toes to the tips of his fingers, making him feel calm and content and at peace. His skin tingled as if his nerve endings were buzzing.

And then it was over.

His eyes, which had fluttered closed, flew open as the full impact of what was happening reached his foggy mind, which had previously been so preoccupied with anxiety and worry about his critically ill father back home.

It was this that now flew to the centre of his mind as he placed his hands on Blaine's chest, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his standard flight attendant uniform shirt for a fleeting moment as he moved to push him away.

"Blaine." he muttered against his oh-so-inviting lips, "Blaine, stop."

He pulled away with another nibble to Kurt's bottom lip, eyes slowly blinking open, colour flooding his face as what he had done caught up with him. Kurt's eyes were wide and blue, shock etched onto his face. Blaine let go of Kurt's hand.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, standing up and brushing his sweating hands off on his uniform pants, "I'm really sorry, Kurt, I shouldn't have – I should go."

The bathroom door shut behind him with a loud clang, and Kurt was left alone. The room was dark when the door was closed, a tiny sliver of light from outside sneaking underneath, and the minuscule space made Kurt feel claustrophobic and isolated.

What the _hell_ had just happened?

One minute there he was, distressed and upset, and the next he was attached to the lips of the person he'd been smitten with for a few months now but had never really given much thought to seriously going anywhere with him.

It was shocking and confusing all at once and he wasn't sure what to think or do.

What was he _supposed_ to think? What was he supposed to do? His lips tingled with the aftermath of the kiss and Kurt felt himself reaching up to touch the spot where their mouths had met, wet and salty with his tears. He wrung his hands in his lap and smoothed down his shirt more times than were necessary, feeling fidgety and agitated and, he had to admit it to himself, hurt.

Everything was going wrong for him and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. He had been kissed by the man he was interested in just minutes after hearing that his father was in hospital. If that wasn't conflicting enough, he actually _enjoyed_ the kiss – he'd have to be dead to have _not_ to enjoyed it – and was now feeling more confused than ever.

And to top it all off, Blaine avoided him for the duration of the flight and didn't acknowledge him as he disembarked the plane at Sheremetyevo International Airport. Kurt's thoughts once again were plagued with the fate of his father.

* * *

_**A/N: Hehehe...I'm evil. Well, let me know what you think? You can follow the story tag 'love at 37000ft' on Tumblr to leave comments or your thoughts or you can send me an ask on my Tumblr (likesboyswholikeboys), or of course leave a review here!**_


	5. January: New Delhi

**_A/N: Not much Klaine as such in this one, but you'll easily see why. This chapter focuses on Kurt as an individual and his point of view of things but Blaine will be back in the next chapter, I promise!_  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**January: New Delhi**

For the next month, Kurt's priorities turned towards caring for his ailing father.

The second heart attack had been considerably stronger than his first and he had been left with limited movement in his left arm and right leg. Even with Carole's help, it still took the two of them to take full care of Burt and ensure that he was comfortable. He had spent two weeks in the hospital before being discharged and after that, he was designated to the round-the-clock care of his son and wife.

Which meant that Kurt had to leave his job in New York for a month so that he could be home with his father. They were paying him, but it was hard leaving the hustle and bustle of the city he had come to love only to return to the small town of his childhood that he had so hated. But he knew that it was necessary.

The first week or so was the most difficult. Kurt had managed to get a flight back to New York a few days after landing in Moscow and had then driven down to Lima over a ten-hour drive. He had asked Rachel to keep an eye on his apartment whilst he was out of town and informed his landlord that he wouldn't be living there for a short while, who had been sympathetic to his situation and wished his father well.

More than once Burt had tried to dissuade Kurt from staying so long ("You don't have to, kid, I'm fine on my own, I have Carole to help me") but he wouldn't hear any of it. It was all-important that his father regained his strength before he even tried to do anything else.

And so he did what he had done for a good portion of his Junior year of high school; he dedicated that next month to taking care of his father in the best way possible.

Luckily for him, focusing on his new task, improving his father's health, left little room for thinking of anything else. Or rather, _anyone_ else.

The second week of his month-long leave of absence was punctuated with heart-fluttering dreams of a bright-eyed flight attendant with a dazzling smile and, more than once, he awoke in a sweat with a significant _problem _in his pyjama pants. And, more than once, he was forced to acknowledge that he had to put it behind him no matter how hard – pardon the pun – it was to do that.

It was Blaine's all-too-hurried exit. The way he'd left so quickly, stuttering and making excuses, not looking Kurt in the eye. And if he was honest, it hurt. Why had he left so quickly? Why had he not explained himself?

He hadn't heard hide nor hair of Blaine since then. No text, no phone call, no contact whatsoever. Not a peep. Aside from the _nature_ of the whole situation, it was just plain rude, kissing someone and then not speaking to them again.

He hadn't told Rachel.

He didn't want to. It was better that she didn't know, because he knew that if he told her, she would tell _everyone_ she knew and before Kurt knew it, he'd get frantic calls interrogating him about the whole thing. Which he did not want, not with a sick father to care for.

It was just...frustrating. And annoying. And a whole load of other adjectives that would also be suitable and accurately described what he was feeling right now.

On top of everything else going on in his life, why this? Why now? Why, after months of flirting (was it flirting? Kurt thought that it was), did he pick now to make his move and then just run away? Kurt didn't understand it. He couldn't understand it. It just wasn't something he could wrap his head around.

He'd always been proud of being gay, but now that he saw how men could _really_ be, he was seriously considering giving women another try.

But maybe not that seriously because years spent in the company of Rachel Berry and the Rachel/Finn/Quinn catastrophe had also showed him exactly how _women_ could be.

He didn't know where to turn. It was as if he'd been left in an unfamiliar forest with no map and was expected to get to the other end. And he'd never been great at orienteering.

* * *

"_Dad! No salt!_" Kurt exclaimed over the dinner table that evening. "And don't think I can't see you sneaking it from the cupboard, because I can. Put it back."

Burt huffed grumpily and slid the salt cellar back into its rightful place. He was in a wheelchair for the time being, until he had had enough physical therapy to be able to move around more on his own without an aid, and had got a lot of fun out of using a long stick with a grabbing device on the end to reach for things out of his new height range.

Unfortunately, this also included things like salt when he thought Kurt wasn't looking.

"You got eyes in the back of your head or something, kid?" Burt asked, wheeling himself to the table with one hand.

"No, I'm just looking after you. You _know_ that salt is forbidden, as well as any saturated fats. Which means no butter, either." he added sharply, fixing a beady eye on his father who had just reached for the tub. Burt grunted in disapproval but obeyed the order.

"How am I supposed to taste my food?" he protested.

"You don't." Carole interjected, hitting him playfully on the shoulder.

"I can see that."

"Oh, Burt, stop complaining. This is your health we're talking about." Carole replied. Burt's expression softened.

"You're right. Sorry. I won't steal the salt any more."

"Good. Because any more health complications and I swear you'll turn me permanently grey, and I just can't afford to start dyeing my hair before I'm thirty." Kurt said.

"Oh, we wouldn't that now, would we?" Carole teased, winking at him.

It was nice, this normal banter.

It was a distraction from everything he had felt for the past two weeks. The fear that his father wouldn't make it, the disappointment and hurt he felt in the wake of Blaine's unexplained behaviour. He had missed it whilst he was in New York and he was glad to have it back.

"So, how are things in New York?" Carole asked. "Work going well for you? You've been to some pretty exotic places lately."

"They're good." Kurt said. He wasn't what he was supposed to say. It was awkward, at least, it _felt_ awkward. Especially now with Blaine in the picture. But was he _really_ in the picture? Was he in _anything_?

"Just good?" his father probed. "I thought you loved it in New York."

"I do, I do." Kurt said quickly. "A lot of work, that's all." Hoping to change the subject, he asked suddenly, "How come Finn isn't eating with us?"

Burt and Carole shared a _look_ across the table.

"He's staying somewhere else tonight." Carole answered cryptically. "He's met someone."

Kurt choked a little on his mashed potatoes. Finn had _met_ someone? Finn, his dim but well-meaning giant of a stepbrother, had _met_ someone?

"A girl called Mandy, she's a music teacher at the elementary school near where Finn lives." Carole explained.

"Oh, that's nice." Kurt said, and he meant it. Ever since Rachel, Finn hadn't had much luck with women or romance in general and he was pleased that he seemed to be getting back into the 'dating game' as his colleagues at work insisted on calling it. He had personally never liked the phrase; it suggested something done for fun, a 'game' in the very sense of the word, with no commitment.

"What about you, Kurt? Met anyone you like?" The question came from Carole as if she'd been reading his mind.

_Shit. Think quickly, Kurt. Whatever you do, do not say, "Well yes, dad, there is one man I'm interested in. I am very interested in him actually but he's a flight attendant that I only see once a month and two weeks ago he kissed me in an airplane bathroom before making a speedy exit which pretty much proves that I am undatable."_

"No, not at the moment." he replied, trying to be as vague as possible. "Work doesn't leave much room for commitments outside the office."

"You'll find someone eventually." Burt said, a forkful of green beans halfway to his mouth. "You're a good enough catch for anyone."

"Dad!" Kurt flushed. "A little inappropriate for the dinner table?"

"Doesn't stop it being true, kid."

"If you say so." Kurt muttered, swallowing several large gulps of water to try and buy some time. The fact that his father and stepmother were so interested in his love life made him uneasy. They had never been this nosy with Finn, not since he and Rachel split several years ago after high school graduation. It was confusing, slightly annoying and very invasive. To him, it felt like being a twelve-year-old girl whose parents had read her private diary.

"You need to start thinking positively, sweetheart." Carole said. "Good things come to those who wait."

_Maybe I've been waiting too long, _Kurt thought. _Why should I have to wait any longer?_

* * *

Four days before Christmas, Burt had a relapse.

He took a funny turn on the stairs and fell, dislocating an already frail knee and suffering a minor head injury. Kurt had been out getting last-minute groceries when it happened and had returned to find an ambulance parked outside the house.

His heart felt as though it might drop out of his stomach and the grocery bags had fallen from his hands, the newly-bought items rolling away unnoticed as only one thing entered his mind. _He has to be okay_.

Luckily, he was. After spending four hours in the ER, he was finally allowed home with a brace on his knee and strict instructions to _not move a muscle_ at all for the next few days, until they could be sure that the head injury had done no lasting damage.

But this second incident had deeply disturbed Kurt. Scared and shaken, he had taken to camping out on the floor of the living room where his father slept on the sofa, unable to manoeuvre the stairs, in order to keep watch over him during the night. Anyone else might have said he was overreacting, but he knew better. He had been in this situation too many times for peace of mind.

And Blaine had yet to contact him after their last meeting. No word nor sound. Which was just the icing on the cake as far as Kurt's stressful, emotional month had been.

Not to mention that he continued to dream about Blaine at night, as his schoolgirl crush developed into something significantly more over the weeks since they had last met.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he really did have serious feelings for him. At least, he felt like did. He didn't have much to compare it to, but this what he was feeling was very different to how he'd felt about Finn by a long shot. That was a slightly borderline creepy obsession; this was, well, something very different. Something that he couldn't explain.

And with everything going on in his life, he didn't deserve this kind of fucking around, especially from a guy.

He also may have been checking his cell several times an hour to see if Blaine had called or at least attempted to call, or texted, but to no avail. He even jumped during the night, thinking that his phone had rang, only to discover that it was just the gurgle of the central heating or a cat outside on the street.

It was completely, irrationally _frustrating_.

Women were suddenly looking appealing again.

* * *

Christmas day was a sombre but cosy affair. With Burt still unable to move around much, they spent it in the living room. They didn't bother with a full three-course festive dinner; Carole wasn't up to it and it would be too much stress on the family, and so they settled for a much simpler meal which Kurt actually enjoyed a lot more.

He loved Christmas with his family. Despite the circumstances, he really did. He loved the holidays; the smell of the Christmas trees, the hideous festive fashion that he just couldn't help but warm to as well as hate at the same time, the jolly Christmas music. He had always loved Christmas.

They watched _The Wizard of Oz_ on the TV and _It's a Wonderful Life_, in which Kurt and Carole cried and Burt pretended not to notice whilst Finn, who had detached himself from his new girlfriend for the occasion, asked questions like "What movie are we even watching?"

Kurt ignored him.

It was exactly the same as it always had been, but different. Different in a way that Kurt, so used to spending the holidays undeniably and depressingly single, now found himself occupied with thoughts such as, _"What if?"_ For the first time in a long time he imagined what it might be like to spend the festive season with a significant other.

Or rather, one significant other in particular, whose name he didn't even want to _think_ to himself for fear of jinxing the entire situation.

Kurt may not have believed in divine intervention, but he _did_ believe in Fate, and right now Fate had dealt him a pretty crappy set of cards.

It was with this thought that he realised what he would have to do. He'd been putting it off for weeks because he knew what would happen, but now it seemed inevitable.

He would have to ask Rachel for help. And he was dreading making that call.

He finally had the courage to do it on New Year's Eve. Giving his father and Carole the slip by pretending to have an enormous headache and excusing himself to go lie down, Kurt slipped upstairs to his old childhood bedroom to make the call. He didn't want to run the risk of getting the Third Degree again.

It was strange going back to his old bedroom. It wasn't really a bedroom any more, more of a guest-room-cum-storage-space for all Burt and Carole's (mostly Carole's) odd nicknacks and paraphernalia that couldn't fit into the garage or elsewhere in the house. Kurt's former king-size bed was gone, replaced with several large bookcases and copious amounts of shelving, filled with various odds and ends including a broken lamp, their old TV, old board games and stacks and stacks of books. Gone was Kurt's pure white dresser and nightstand – taken with him to New York – and the large display case that used to stand next to his bed. That had been too big to fit into his city apartment and so he'd had to get rid of it.

The room itself hadn't changed. It was still the same white it had been when Kurt decorated it in his Junior year, the same size, the same space. Only the contents had changed. Kurt felt a moment of nostalgia, thinking of all the things that had happened in this bedroom over the years. The most recent memory he had of being in this room was being comforted by his father when he had been rejected from the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts, even after a successful application and an audition deemed 'outstanding'.

But now was not the time to think about such things. He needed the advice of his best friend, whether he liked it or not. If anyone knew what to do, it would be Rachel.

She picked up after three rings.

"Hello?"

"Rachel, I really hate myself for saying this, but I need your help. But first I have to tell you something and you have to promise not to freak out." Kurt rushed out in one breath, his heart hammering a mile a minute. He swallowed a few times whilst waiting for Rachel to answer.

"First of all, I resent your first comment because I give excellent advice. Secondly, _tell me more!"_ she shrieked, and Kurt almost had to cover his ears from the sound.

"_Blaine kissed me_." he mumbled into his cellphone, his voice so low that he wondered if Rachel would even hear him.

"What? I can't hear you."

"I said, _Blaine kissed me_." he repeated in a whisper. Did he really have to spell it out for her? Because he really didn't want to.

"What?"

"I SAID BLAINE KISSED ME!" he shouted, and immediately regretted it because his outburst was followed by a deadly silence on the other end of the phone. He swore he heard footsteps outside the door and he froze, listening intently in case it was Finn or, worse, his father. But he heard nothing more and breathed harshly as he waited for Rachel's reply.

"He did _what?_" Rachel spluttered after a moment, and Kurt could almost picture her eyes round and bulging out of her head in shock.

"He kissed me." Kurt said for the third time, and found that it was actually easier to say now that he'd said it – well, shouted it – out loud once. "In the _bathroom_ of an _airplane_, of all places."

"Was it good? What did his lips taste like?" Rachel gasped, "Where there fireworks? Did he cry?"

"What? Rachel, no, stop!" Kurt said. "Wait, why would he _cry?_" _She really is insane_, he thought.

"Jesse cried when he kissed me once." Rachel said matter-of-factly. Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes, remembered that Rachel couldn't see him, and did it anyway.

"Rachel, Blaine is not Jesse. And he didn't cry, _actually_" he snapped. "Look, Rachel, I came to you for help with this so are you going to give it to me or not?"

"_Alright,_" Rachel huffed. "No need to get all diva on me. So, Blaine kissed you. And now you're...upset? Happy? Describe your emotions!" she demanded.

"Mostly I'm just...confused. We had this...dare I say it...pretty _incredible_ kiss and I'd _just_ found out that my dad had his heart attack and he swooped in with his...his stupid smile and his nice hair and _kissed_ me and then he ran off!"

Kurt hadn't realised that there were tears in his eyes until he felt one sliding down his cheek, and he hurried to wipe it away, embarrassed for getting so emotional.

"What do you mean, he ran off? Weren't you on a plane? It's not like he could really go anywhere." Rachel replied.

"Don't be stupid, you know what I mean. He just...ran off, left me sitting there on the freaking _toilet_ and then ignored me for the rest of the flight! He didn't even look at me!" Kurt paused, and felt himself deflating, as if a balloon had been popped inside him. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know if I'm the best person to answer that question, Kurt." Rachel said softly.

"Well, that's _such_ a help." Kurt retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Look, you _obviously_ really like this guy or you wouldn't be so upset about it." Rachel began.

"I really do." Kurt heard himself saying. "I really, really do." It was the first time he'd admitted it out loud and it felt...good?

"_And_ if you really do like him as much as you've just said you do, then maybe _you_ need to take the lead, so to speak." she finished.

"Like what? How do I "take the lead"?" Kurt asked sceptically.

"Well, you say he left quickly after you kissed. Maybe he's nervous. Maybe he's too shy to make the first move-" Rachel replied, but Kurt cut her off.

"He _kissed_ me, Rachel. Surely that counts as 'making a move'" he said.

"Maybe, maybe not. Like I was _starting_ to say, maybe he's too shy to make a first move, _apart_ from the kissing. Maybe he freaked out, but that doesn't mean to say that he doesn't like you, too." she reasoned.

Kurt thought about this for a moment. The kindness, the thoughtful gestures, the sweet notes written on napkins – which he had kept, against his better judgement – it all made sense. But somehow he was having a hard time believing it.

"I know it's hard to believe, Kurt," she said, as though she had read his mind, "but maybe it's true."

"You still haven't given me anything useful in terms of help. If anything, now I'm even more confused than I was before I called you." he replied.

"You want my advice?" she offered.

"_Yes, _Rachel. As if it wasn't clear enough, I've said it about a hundred times since the start of this conversation."

"I think you should call him." she said.

"_What?_" he exclaimed, jumping up from where he'd been sitting on an overturned cardboard box. "I can't do that! Have you gone insane?"

"You said you wanted my help. That is my help." she said.

"No!"

"No, what?"

"No, I am not calling him. Not after what happened. It would be weird and awkward and _what would I say_ and...no. You are not making me do this." Kurt insisted.

"You've called him before." Rachel pointed out.

"Yes, but I got his _answering machine_ and then he picked up halfway through the message. It was embarrassing."

"You think everything is embarrassing. Why can't you just _live_ a little, Kurt? It could be good for you!" she said.

There it was again. The _you should live a little, try new things, explore life_ speech. He'd had it enough times from his father over the past three years and now he'd had it from Rachel, too. He was perfectly content with the life he had now – why bother trying to change it?

"And what if it isn't?" Kurt asked. "What if – what if it all goes horribly wrong?"

"It won't." Rachel insisted. "Trust me."

As it turned out, Rachel was wrong.

It _did _all go horribly, horribly wrong and Kurt just didn't know what to do with himself at the end of it all.

He didn't call Blaine as Rachel had told him to. He waited until he was due to fly to another transatlantic location, hoping to use the flight as reason to see Blaine and talk to him, to tell him exactly what was on his mind and exactly how he felt. He wasn't really sure what that was, but he was going to give it a try anyway.

What did he have to lose?

_Well, except my pride and dignity, not much_, he thought cynically to himself. _But better to try and fail than not try at all. Or something like that, anyway_.

His opportunity came when, a week after he had returned to work at the beginning of January, he was informed that he would be posted to New Delhi for two weeks mid-month to oversee the launch of the first collection of an Indian designer they were interested in using for _Vogue_'s global issue. The idea of a round-trip flight to India didn't exactly have him jumping for joy, but work was work and he would be cold in his grave before he gave less than 100% effort to everything expected of him.

But it did give him the perfect chance to see Blaine and admit to him that what had happened had been so, so great, but also very hurtful, and he wanted an explanation.

So, to New Delhi it was.

One of the most culturally rich places in the world, it was bursting with people and noise and colour. At least, it was if the interpretation of India in _Slumdog Millionare _was anything to go by. He hoped it would live up to his expectations.

The arrangements were made, his stuff was packed (and it all fit in the case this time), he had all the relevant documentation ready in his travel bag. He tried to tell himself that it was strictly professional but, of course, it wasn't.

On the way to the airport, he rehearsed what he was going to say to Blaine. _Why did you kiss me? Why did you leave? Do you like me? Because I think I like you_. _I think I like you a _lot.

Well, perhaps something a little more eloquent than that (he hoped), but the logistics of the thing were all there.

He was actually perfectly on time this time, neither late nor early, and didn't have to queue long for check-in. He didn't even have to wait long in the boarding lounge before his flight was called.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, flight 401 to New Delhi is now boarding. Please make your way towards boarding gate 12. Thank you."_

Kurt would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous, because he was. It wasn't everyday that he was preparing to confront a potentially awkward situation by admitting his feelings for someone he had only seen a handful of times and yet felt..._s_trangely _strongly_ about_. It's time to man _up, he told himself _firmly. No withering away into shyness and messing this up even more than it already has been_.

It was with attempted confidence that Kurt strode through the boarding tunnel and out onto the plane, trying not to let his nervousness show on his face, which he was sure had become pale and blotchy in an _extremely_ attractive way since he reached the airport.

He drew himself up to full height and began the search for his seat, forcing himself not to scan the body of the plane for any sight of Blaine, which was a very difficult thing to do as his eyes seemed to be drawn to the crew's cabin at the front of the aircraft, as if Blaine might appear by magic from behind the curtain separating the cabin from the passengers.

Kurt sat down next to the tiny airplane window and deposited his bag under the chair at his feet, not bothering this time with the overhead compartment. He would find another way to catch Blaine's attention when he saw him.

_And now I wait_, he thought, the nerves building in his chest and in his stomach as he sat there, eyes flickering around the aircraft, hoping to catch any sight of Blaine. Perhaps he would hear him before he saw him, hear his smooth, melodic voice and friendly tone, attending to the other passengers on the flight.

Perhaps he would be treated to a nice view of his ass.

He waited and he waited. He waited until the plane began to taxi down the runway, rumbling and groaning like an enormous beast. He waited until the plane was in the air and he could take off his seat belt. He waited until he needed to go to the bathroom, forcing away any memory of what had happened in a similar bathroom previously, hoping to catch sight of him.

He waited until the drinks cart came round. He waited until the food cart came round, some time later. He waited whilst he had a short nap, expecting to wake up and see him standing there with his usual white smile.

Kurt waited for the best part of three hours before the reality dawned on him like the inevitable grey clouds after a bout of sunshine.

He wasn't here. Blaine wasn't on the flight. He'd set his expectations high and he'd only been bitterly disappointed.

_Is it because of me? _Kurt suddenly thought. _Is he not here because of me? Is he avoiding me – or did I drive him away? _

The possibility that Blaine had not turned up for work on the slightest chance that Kurt would be on one of his flights was ludicrous. He knew that. And yet, the more he thought about it over the next few seconds, the more it seemed plausible to Kurt.

But it was impossible. There was no way that that's what had happened, that he had not showed up because he didn't want to run into Kurt. No way. Absolutely no way. Kurt racked his brain, trying to come up with any other excuse. _He's sick_, he thought. _Maybe he's sick and couldn't make it. Maybe he has a family emergency. Maybe a relative died...no, don't think that, if it's true you'll feel guilty_.

And yet in the back of his mind was the same nagging thought. _But what if I'm right? What if he's avoiding work because he's avoiding_ me?

_I can't believe I screwed this up before I even started. _

Kurt got his hopes up again at the stop over in Sharm El Sheikh, riding on the off chance that Blaine might be there to continue on to New Delhi. But he wasn't, and Kurt's balloon of expectation popped again, limp and sagging in his chest.

With his head in his hands, he resigned to admitting the truth; he wasn't here and he wasn't going to be. He spent the rest of the flight to India in complete and utter silence, contemplating exactly what he could have done wrong to turn Blaine away.

* * *

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching Delhi International Airport. Please ensure that you have all your belongings with you before you leave the aircraft. We hope you have had a pleasant and enjoyable flight._"

_**"**__**देवियों और सज्जनों**__**, **__**हम अब दिल्ली अंतरराष्ट्रीय हवाई अड्डे के पास आ रही हैं**__**. **__**कृपया सुनिश्चित करें कि आप के साथ अपने सभी सामान है**__**, **__**इससे पहले कि आप विमान छोड़**__**. **__**हमें उम्मीद है कि आप एक सुखद और सुखद उड़ान पड़ा है**__**. "**_

Kurt's feet felt like lead as he slowly but surely collected his belongings and made to disembark the plane as it rumbled to stop on the runway. It was raining outside; he could see it spattering on the windows of the airplane as he passed down the aisle. _As if needed any more bad omens_, he thought spitefully.

Thankfully, a ramshackle old bus that had clearly seen better days came to pick them up directly from the front of the airplane.

Kurt jostled his way through the throng of passengers in order to be one of the first to get on; he had business to attend to and, in any case, he hated the rain and didn't want his brand-new Diesel jeans to get wet because he'd never get them dry.

It took them twenty minutes to get to the main building of the airport and once inside, it was _crammed _with people. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that India was one of the busiest countries in the whole word. The noise was unbelievable.

Pushing his way through crowd after crowd of people, Indians and foreigners alike, he grappled for the luggage conveyor belts and within minutes swung his much-loved Italian leather cases off the belt and struggled through to find and empty space in which he could gather all his possessions together and check he had everything he needed.

_Easier said than done when everyone's practically like sardines in a too-small can_, he thought grumpily. _If this is how it is here, how am I going to get through the streets?_ _I'll have to wear a police light and a siren on my head if I want to go anywhere_.

Kurt decided to check his cellphone whilst he was still in a public place with cell reception, just in case he'd been left any messages by his father or Carole. He didn't think he'd get much reception when he was out in the streets until he got to his hotel, so he might as well check it now.

He had one message, a voicemail. He pressed 123 to listen to it without checking who it was.

And his heart and stomach clenched painfully as he heard Blaine's voice through the speaker on his cellphone.

"_Look, Kurt...I guess you're not there right now or you're not picking up your cell for some other reason, but I just wanted to see if you were okay...if your dad was okay after his heart attack...and I wanted to say that, that I'm sorry, again, for what I...for what I did. It was stupid of me to do that because I didn't even ask your permission first and that was really irresponsible of me and I've never done anything like that in my life before and...I'm just sorry. And you're probably thinking right now, "Stop apologising!", but the thing is, I don't think I can. And I might be a bit drunk. And I'm sorry for that too. I'm just not good at this stuff, at this romance stuff, this liking people thing. I'm not good at any of it and I keep fucking it up. So I'm going to apologise one more time and I hope that you'll forgive me. Sorry._"

There was audible sniffing and some shuffling, a crackle, and the line went dead. The message ended there.

* * *

_**A/N: You didn't think I'd let you get this far without any angst at all, did you? As always, let me know what you think in a review! Reviews make authors happy and then they **_**might_ just update a little faster!_**


	6. February: Rome

******_A/N: Well, folks, we've reached the halfway point through the story - only six chapters and the Epilogue to go! This is also the longest chapter so far, at 15 pages long on my word processor. _  
**

******_Warnings for some slightly smutty content, but it's not graphic enough to warrant an M rating...yet. Enjoy!_**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

**February: Rome**

Kurt needed a vacation.

He was sick of work. It was their busiest time of the year, working on the 'big' February issue i.e. The Valentine's Day Issue which was so important it needed its own capitalised title. He may be the boss of the department, but that meant he didn't have to like it when strings of pink paper hearts lined the walls of the _Vogue_ offices and he was suddenly required to find two very specific shades of red – red, not crimson or mauve or berry or wine, _red_ – which matched exactly to the skin tone of a particular model.

He hated Valentine's Day.

It was a complete nightmare. Ever since his awkward high school days, he'd loathed the annual holiday where loved-up couples paraded their relationship in front of everyone, played tonsil hockey in the corridors and left each other disgustingly adorable gifts and trinkets in their lockers. He loathed the tacky decorations and fat little cupids that swung from every available surface. He loathed the commercialism of the whole thing, an excuse to buy cheap candy and even cheaper flowers and use it profess your love to that 'special someone' who, quite frankly, should already know you love them without having to resort to embarrassing displays of affection.

In short, he really needed a break. Alone. Preferably somewhere far, far away from any part of the continental United States of America.

Somewhere where he couldn't be lead to thinking about Blaine, and the voicemail message, and everything that went with those two things.

Which is why he slightly surprised himself when he opened one of the glossy travel catalogues he'd picked up at the travel agents' and chose Rome as his destination of choice.

Rome. _The most romantic city in the world_, he thought ironically to himself. _Is the universe conspiring against me? _But he decided that he might as well take a trip. At least no one would bother him if he was alone. Well, he hoped they wouldn't.

So, it was to Rome that he was headed. Without thinking twice, he booked his flight and accommodation one tedious morning at work when he _should_ have been pursuing Theresa, one of the dressmakers, in her attempt to locate enough red fabric to create the dress for the covershoot.

He was due to depart in three days' time on February 12th, two days before Valentine's Day.

_What have I got to lose? _He thought. _I need a break from here_ _or I'll go mad_. _I think I already have_. _Is there a scale for measuring madness? If there was, I'd break it. _

Sipping his coffee in a small café a couple of streets away from his office, Kurt tried not to think of anything at all. His father had always told him he was an over-thinker, a worrier, always over-analysing things, and so he tried to empty his mind of all thoughts entirely. He thought of nothing except the bitter-sweet taste of his nonfat mocha and the rush of the mid-morning crowd passing through the café. He watched the baristas to-ing and fro-ing between the enormous silver coffee machines and espresso makers, hot chocolate machines and tea machines. Kurt watched a large cloud of steam puffing from the espresso maker rise up into the air over the heads of the baristas.

It was oddly calming, soothing to watch the rhythm of activity that he hadn't really noticed before, busy as he was pushing through the crowds to get his morning coffee order done before he killed someone in his pre-caffeine state. It was interesting what you picked up when you really started paying attention.

For example, Kurt noticed a blonde woman in the corner with two young children who were sitting up at the table sipping juice out of sippy cups whilst he nursed what was probably a double espresso with extra shots, if her tired eyes were anything to go by. He noticed a red-haired man and another younger boy, maybe around fifteen or sixteen, still in a soccer jersey, queuing at the counter. A father who had just picked his son up from practice? A divorced husband doing his parental duty?

It was hard to tell from this angle and Kurt realised in that few seconds that the world was filled with endless possibilities. It could be one thing, but it could also be another.

The woman with dark hair scraped back into a bun could be a lawyer or a ballet teacher. The little girl with wet hair holding her older sister's hand could have been caught in the rain or just finished practice at the swim club for kids. The elderly man with silvery gray hair by the window could be waiting for his equally aged wife to join him, or else sitting there alone because she had recently passed away and this had been their favourite haunt.

The man who had kissed another on an airplane and then proceeded to ignore him, leaving only an emotional voicemail message on his cellphone, could be playing a cruel game or else too shy to admit his true feelings, so he settled for saying nothing.

But of course, that was a completely hypothetical situation.

If he hadn't been confused before, he certainly was now. At least, part of him was. The other part of him was certain that he had made a mistake and that this was all just a big misunderstanding, that things would right themselves, that Blaine would explain his behaviour (not through voicemail this time) and all would be right again.

But Kurt was also realistic and he knew that that's the way it happened in movies, and _only_ in movies. Magical righting of wrongs just didn't happen in real life. These things took time, a lot of pain and a lot of effort to resolve.

He knew that. Of course he knew that. He was no stranger to pain nor to effort. So why did he feel like things were moving too slowly? That something should have been done by now to sort out this mess? Because that's what it was, a complete and utter mess.

Kurt hadn't returned Blaine's call. Or rather, his voicemail message. He'd been too afraid to, too unsure of what to say. _What_ can _I say? _He thought. _This is difficult enough as it is_. _And in any case, what if he _doesn't_ want to talk to me? What if that voicemail message was the last time he was contacting me?_

_Then_, Kurt thought_, then I've just got my hopes up only to be let down yet again. I thought I would be used to disappointment by now, but I guess not_.

Feeling more than a little depressed, he drained his coffee and dumped his cup in the trash on the way out, figuring that he might as well head back to work even though he still had half an hour lunch break left.

Kurt thought that the best way of avoiding thinking about Blaine was to keep himself busy. He spent the remainder of his lunch break researching places to visit and things to see and do in Rome that didn't require a relationship status that wasn't 'single' and carefully wrote a list of everything that caught his eye. The Trevi Fountain and the Colosseum were both high on the list, as long as he negotiated the wish-making couples at the former, as well as several visitor-recommended restaurants where he could eat without having Love with a capital L dangled right in front of his eyes.

There were also several churches and cathedrals as well as the Vatican city, but he didn't think he would be welcome in those. He put it on the list anyway just in case.

By the time he had finished, the list had six items on it. He was staying for a week so that equalled to one place a day, not counting the restaurants. He supposed it would be enough. _And if I get bored, I'll just find one of those little ice cream places and eat to my heart's content_. _I've always wanted to try gellato._..

* * *

Informing his boss and family of his impending vacation was not easy. He once again faced the Third Degree from his father ("What are you going to Italy for in the middle of February? Why are you going alone?") and awkward questions from his colleagues about why he was taking a vacation in the middle of the 'V-Day issue' as it had been dubbed. Kurt threw them an excuse about work stress and ignored the rest of their questions.

Eventually, they just accepted that Kurt was going abroad for a week and wouldn't be available to sort out any fashion crises that happened to come up. _I've done enough for them over the last three years. They can manage without me for a week_. _They'll have to_.

Kurt also had to tell Rachel so that she could keep an eye on his apartment for the week whilst he was away. He wasn't looking forward to it. If he thought his parents were nosy, then Rachel was an entirely different kettle of fish altogether. She didn't understand terms such as 'privacy' and 'discretion'; Kurt wasn't sure that they were even in her vocabulary.

He decided to wait until a few days before he was due to leave. He had already informed his landlord of his absence, who had been rather nice about it and told him to have a good time on vacation. The smaller the dosage of Rachel Berry Crazy, the better. Especially a Rachel Berry in the middle of wedding plans, when the crazy had been multiplied by about a hundred. Kurt had a sneaking suspicion that Jesse wasn't exactly calming her down, either. They were as bad as each other.

Eventually it was two days before Kurt flew to Rome and he was making the final preparations. He had added a few places to his Must-Visit List including a museum or two in case he got bored, and made a mental note to buy a postcard to send to his father whilst he was there.

On the Friday night, he called Rachel to let her know he would be away and that his apartment would need seeing to. Most notably, his recently-acquired cactus plant would need attending to. He liked the prickly plants because of their sturdiness and endurance, and the way they warned off predators with their long, thin spines.

"Kurt! I don't think you've ever called me so often." Rachel commented when she picked up the phone. Her voice took on a concerned edge. "There isn't anything wrong, is there?"

_No, except the fact that I'm using avoidance behaviours to deny my feelings for a man who doesn't realise how great he really is_, Kurt thought. But of course he couldn't say that to _her_.

"No." he said. "I just wanted to ask you to keep an eye on my apartment while I'm on vacation, if you can find time between all your _other_ commitments." _Okay, so maybe that last part was a little sarcastic. _

"Oooooh! You're going on vacation? Where? _When?_" Rachel asked, a little breathlessly.

"I'm going to Rome in two days." Kurt replied.

"_Two days!_" she shrieked. "You could have given me a warning!"

"This _is_ your warning." Kurt said exasperatedly. "I'm telling you now."

A pause.

"Wait...you're not going alone, are you? Rachel asked tentatively.

"Yes. Why?"

"But...Kurt, it's Valentine's Day next week." she said.

"Well spotted, Rachel." Kurt sighed.

"You can't go to Rome, alone, on _Valentine's Day_. That's just...well, it's just sad." Rachel replied. _Oh God_, he thought. _Here she goes again, pitying me. Exactly what I didn't want_.

"I won't be going alone." Kurt said. "I'll be going with about fifty other passengers. Maybe even more."

"You know what I mean, Kurt." Rachel said, rather scathingly.

"Rachel, you don't have to worry about me. You sound like my dad."

"But Kurt, I _am_ worried about you." she confessed. "You haven't dated anyone in such a long time."

"I don't want to date." Kurt lied. _Correction; I don't want to date unless it's a specific person who I will not mention_.

"Sure." A pause. "You know I only want what's best for you, right?"

"Yeah." Kurt said. "I do."

* * *

There was exactly one hour till his flight boarded and Kurt had already seen no less than seventeen couples of various ages. Young couples, elderly couples, very, very old couples, and middle-aged couples. He felt his heart sink as he watched them. This was precisely what he had been trying to avoid. He sat up a little straighter in his seat and tried to ignore them.

To pass the time, he devised a one-man game of hangman on a spare scrap of paper he found in his pocket, but got frustrated when the only words he could think of were _love, valentine_ and _heart_.

_I swear, if it's like this all week I'm getting a flight home_.

He rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly feeling tired. He only hoped his vacation wouldn't go to waste; he had so been looking forward to it. Leaving the office behind and getting on a plane for something that wasn't work-related was liberating. He had a week, right? A lot could happen in that space of time.

He looked up, surveying the vast boarding lounge, and immediately did a double take.

It couldn't be. _I'm seeing things_, Kurt told himself. _I'm just seeing things_. Shaking his head to stop himself from dwelling on it, he leaned back in his seat and stretched out his legs, narrowly avoiding kicking a passing toddler in the shine. He apologised profusely, red-faced, to its disgruntled mother.

The more he waited, the more he allowed himself to get excited about his vacation. It would be different; it would be a welcome refreshment. He would _not_ think about anything negative. Nothing negative at all. This vacation was about _him_ and it would stay that way, if Kurt had anything to say about it. Which he did. A _lot_.

Eventually, the time to board arrived and it was with renewed vigour that Kurt got up from his seat and gathered his belongings, fishing out his passport and boarding ticket to present at the gate.

He was through the boarding gate and in his seat within a few minutes, the cool air of the built-in air conditioning blowing pleasantly on his face. It would bring relief once the plane filled up and became inevitably stuffy and warm.

Once Kurt was settled and his seatbelt fastened, he did what he usually did on planes; he fell asleep.

* * *

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we are now descending into Rome. Please ensure that your seatbelt is securely fastened until the plane has come to a complete stop._"

_**"Signore e signori, stiamo scendendo a Roma. Assicurarsi che la cintura di sicurezza sia saldamente fissato fino al piano è venuto ad una fermata completa."**_

He awoke from a dream in which he was lying in bed, naked, with an unnamed stranger just as the plane clattered to a stop at Leonardo de Vinci International Airport. The face of the man in his dream had been incredibly familiar, but he couldn't place the slopes and curves of his face in his mind. He had smelled of coffee and clean wool and optimism, if optimism even had a smell.

Kurt had felt at peace, content, in his dream. He hadn't felt lonely.

He groggily rubbed his eyes and manoeuvred himself along the aisle to disembark, pulling his bag out from under his feet as he did so.

The wall of heat hit him as soon as he stepped off the plane into the Italian late-winter sun. It was unseasonably warm and Kurt regretted not having the foresight to wear a short-sleeved shirt; the long-sleeved one he was currently wearing was making him sweat a little in the sun's rays. He would change as soon as he reached his hotel.

He was a few hours in the airport, collecting the one piece of luggage he had brought with him and going through Italian customs and Passport Control. But instead of being annoyed and irritated with the typically long queues, he felt...good. It gave him a buzz to know that he was here for himself, and not out of commitment to anything (or any_one_) else. It felt really, really good.

He let the sun warm his face and neck as he stepped into a cab outside the airport and directed the driver to his hotel in very poor Italian. _Well, French has always been my better language_. The driver must have understood his instructions, however, because soon they were speeding towards the heart of Rome, the winter sun climbing higher and higher in the sky.

The busy streets were crammed with people. Some were on bikes, some were walking with armfuls of groceries, others calling to each other from their car windows and shop doors. There were cafés everywhere with adorable little tables and chairs standing outside on the pavement. The smell of strong coffee reached Kurt's nostrils through the ventilation of the cab. Call it cliché, but it was like a scene from a movie. He knew he'd made the right decision to come.

He felt his anxiety slip away as the centre of the city came into view. There was something inherently calming about the sand-coloured buildings and buzz of activity. _I definitely made the right decision. I deserve this. I do deserve this. Fuck the office, this is about me_.

Upon reaching his hotel, a finely-dressed porter with a thick moustache opened the door of the cab and brought his luggage out of the trunk. He was beckoned into a cool white lobby with shining chrome furniture and several padded armchairs grouped around an enormous TV mounted on the wall, showing a soccer game.

It was definitely one of the best hotels he had been in for quite some time, if not _the_ best, except for a to-die-for establishment in Athens that he had stayed in for one of his very first assignments at work. That one had had marble floors and, rather ironically, Egyptian cotton sheets.

This was heaven.

After checking in and receiving his room key – a little white card edged in silver – he stepped into the elevator which took him to the fourth floor, where he found his room at the end of the corridor.

Walking in felt like stepping backwards in time, but in a good way. It was just as well-decorated as the lobby. Kurt knew interior design well; he had redesigned his bedroom himself and later remodelled the living room as a five-year anniversary gift to his dad and Carole. He silently applauded whoever had designed the rooms for the hotel. In contrast to the lobby, which had been sleek and modern, the room was more old-fashioned in a way that was not off-putting, but endearing. The walls were the same colour of sand as the buildings outside and the enormous bed had a cast-iron headboard and footboard.

He liked it. He was surprised by this; it wasn't a style he would have personally chosen. But he liked it.

Kurt put down his suitcase and flopped down onto the bed, sighing in contentment as his body sagged into the soft, bouncy mattress. He felt like a kid again, giddy with freedom and the opportunity to do whatever he wanted. Kurt didn't even care that it was Valentine's Day anymore; it was all about him, and he _loved_ it.

Maybe this was how Rachel felt all the time just being, well...Rachel. Plus there was Jesse, who pretty much encouraged her to do everything and anything she could to live her own life on her own terms. Kurt didn't have that kind of push, so the feeling was completely new, and he would milk it for all it was worth.

Bringing himself out of his reverie, he got up from the bed and pulled a spare change of clothes out of his suitcase, meaning to shower and dress in a fresh outfit, but a noise from outside drew him towards the balcony. The tinkle of laughter drifted in through half-open French doors (_Ironic_, Kurt thought) and he crossed over to them, pushing them open fully and letting the warm afternoon air blow in.

The hotel opened out onto a small, pretty square, a _piazza_, Kurt remembered, with a decent-sized fountain in the centre. There were two people chatting near it, two men. Kurt couldn't see their faces, only the backs of their heads, but their voices floated up to the balcony where Kurt was standing.

"I'm telling you, squirt, it's all happening for me." one man said, a clear edge of pride in his voice.

"I thought I told you not to call me that, about a hundred times." the other man replied, annoyed.

"Oh, come on now. Don't be like that. I came here especially to see you. The least you can do is give me a warm welcome." the first man said. Kurt suspected an uneasy relationship between the two men.

A sigh came from the second man. "You're right, I'm sorry...I've got a lot on my mind, that's all. I came here to get away from stuff at home and I'm just dragging it here with me."

"Don't worry about it, squirt." the first man reassured, playfully nudging the other in the shoulder.

"Cooper!" the second man protested, and Kurt's breath caught in his throat.

_Cooper._

_As in Blaine's _brother, _Cooper?_

Kurt blinked several times and leaned a little more over the balcony to get a closer look at the two men.

One looked significantly older and was taller, the first man to speak; the second man was smaller and more slender, and around a good head or two shorter.

Then the second man turned to the side and Kurt froze in his place. He recognised the curve of the cheek, the slope of the nose. He recognised the shape of the lips and the low, warm voice.

He hadn't been imagining things at the airport. It was Blaine. There was no mistaking it. And the other man, Cooper, was clearly his older brother.

Kurt's head spun. What was he to do now, now that Blaine was here, in Rome? _Looking very, very good, I might add_, Kurt's mind supplied as his brain failed to engage properly in light of the shock he had just received. Well, it _was_ true. In a light blue polo shirt and tan shorts, he _did_ look effortlessly attractive in more ways than one. Damn him.

_Oh God, am I salivating? Stop it, Kurt! Focus! What happened to personal freedom and liberation?_

_**Well**_**, **answered a little voice in the back of his mind, _**it was never really all about you, was it? One of the reasons you came here was to get away from thoughts of Blaine. And now he's walked right into your path and thrown you off your aim.**_

Kurt pulled himself away reluctantly from the balcony and went back inside, deciding he better take that shower to distract himself. _Maybe it should be a cold one_.

He went into the bathroom and pulled off his clothes, shutting the door behind him and switching on the chrome shower, feeling pleasure in the hum of electricity as it came to life. A spray of steaming hot water invited him in, and he stepped under the water without thinking about it, letting the stream hit his back, his chest, his face, his legs. The heat and steam cleared his head and he let his eyes drift closed.

His mind's eye filled with images of Blaine. They appeared suddenly and surprisingly, consuming his imagination. He re-lived kissing Blaine in the airplane bathroom, experiencing the warmth and softness of his lips once over. The gentleness of his touch overwhelmed him again, now, in his imagination just as it had done in real life.

Only his imagination didn't stop there.

Images from the dream he'd had on the plane combined with his memory of kissing Blaine and all of a sudden Kurt knew that _Blaine_ had been the man in his dream. He'd known he'd been familiar at the time but had been unable to place his face. Now he knew.

He imaged Blaine, just like in his dream, lying sprawled nude in his bed, the sheets tangled around his waist. He imagined wrapping his arms around that ridiculously slender waist (_seriously, how is that possible? _He thought absently) as Blaine softly kissed his neck – he had a thing about that, okay? - and shoulders. Kurt imagined gasping as Blaine's lips travelled across both collarbones and down across his chest, brushing the trail of light hair that lead down to his navel, making his stomach muscles quiver.

He imagined him nipping playfully at his hipbones then smoothing his tongue, wet and warm, over the red marks left behind on his skin. He would nuzzle his stomach affectionately and then sink down over his hard, flushed length, licking and dragging his lips over the ridges and curves, applying pressure just under the leaking head.

Kurt gasped and his eyes flew open, realising that whilst he had been daydreaming, the water had run icy cold and was stinging his skin. Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped an enormous white towel around his waist and breathed hard, determined to calm himself down after his...well, wild fantasy, for lack of a better term. _That was...interesting. That's never happened before, not even with my old boyfriend Jonathan_. Jonathan was the intern with whom Kurt had had a brief relationship. There had been no spark, no chemistry between them.

There was chemistry between him and Blaine. He could deny it no longer. Seeing him again – _albeit rather unexpectedly, _his mind added – had forced him to confront what he had been feeling all along.

But Rome was a big city, and Blaine could be anywhere. _The odd of me running into him are less than zero_, he thought pessimistically. _And even if we crossed paths, what would I say? "I had a fantasy about you blowing me in the shower. Why have you been avoiding me?" Yeah, that would go down well – pardon the pun_.

Kurt changed quickly and decided to head out into the city to see a few of the sights to take his mind off things. He was out of the hotel in less than ten minutes and had the entire city of Rome before him to explore at his leisure.

* * *

Kurt's feet were aching and sore.

He had been walking all day, visiting landmarks and optimum tourist hotspots, navigating loved-up couples as he did so. To his surprise, it didn't bother him as much as it had before. He didn't care that everywhere he looked there seemed to be pairs of people. He was, to be frank, past caring.

Until, of course, the unexpected happened.

With the sun low in the sky, which was turning a pinky orange, Kurt took a seat outside a traditional _gelateria _to rest his feet. He simply sat and perused the list of mouth-watering ice creams on offer whilst watching the world go by. He couldn't believe that there were so many people about. Even the streets of New York had their quieter moments, if anyone could comprehend such a thing, but here the streets were filled to the brim all day, every day.

It was overwhelming and strangely comforting all at once.

Kurt felt incredibly relaxed, sitting here in the balmy evening sun. He didn't think about how the pink of the sky reminded him of candy hearts, or how that cloud was shaped like a valentine. He forgot about it all, every last detail. He didn't even notice when someone stepped into his line of vision, casting a shadow over the table.

"D'you mind if I join you?" Blaine asked shyly, his confident, friendly demeanour gone. He was wringing his hands in front of body. "I wasn't following you or anything, I swear, I saw you over here and...I wanted to say hi."

Kurt nudged the opposite chair with his foot. "Be my guest." He kept his voice calm, though internally his mind was running riot. Blaine sat down with relief, attempting a thin smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked nervous, and Kurt supposed that he had a right to be.

"I owe you an apology, Kurt. A real one, when I'm actually sober and not a complete mess." Blaine began. "I'm so embarrassed about that message I left on your cell..."

"Don't be." Kurt insisted, resisting the urge to take one of Blaine's hands in his own. _Now is not the time_, he told himself fiercely. _Let him explain himself first_. "I have to admit, I was...confused about it, at first, but I tried not to be hurt by it. You must have had your reasons."

"I panicked." Blaine confessed. "I thought...I thought you didn't feel the same way."

"The same way about what?" Kurt asked, puzzled.

Blaine looked crestfallen, and Kurt immediately regretted his question. "The same way about me that I do about you."

There. It was out in the open, hanging in the air like a spider's web, thin and stretching out between them, connecting them. What Kurt had been feeling for months had finally been said and it felt as though a huge weight lift off of his shoulders.

"But I do." Kurt whispered, so low that Blaine had to lean in to hear him correctly. "I thought _you_ didn't feel that way about _me_!"

To his surprise, Blaine laughed. _Oh, I've missed hearing that laugh_, Kurt thought. _It reminds me of summer and sunshine and...optimism_. _That's why I had felt optimism in my dream_. This time, Blaine smiled widely, his usual white, broad smile, and Kurt couldn't help but return it.

"Why would you think that?" Blaine asked. "Then again, I know why – I suck at romance. I can never get anything right."

"Avoiding me might have been a stretch too far." Kurt admitted with a teasing expression.

"I thought that might have been a bad idea. It was a _good_ idea at the time, I swear. I'm such a coward, I'm sorry." Blaine replied. "I should have been straight with you."

"Then we'd have a bit of a problem because I'm anything but." Kurt quipped, and they both let out a burst of laughter.

"You're one of a kind, Kurt Hummel." Blaine said.

"So are you."

"No, I'm not. I'm just your ordinary flight attendant who dropped out of music grad school to care for his mother." Blaine said, a little sadly.

"You're better than you think you are." Kurt insisted. "I wouldn't like you so much if you weren't."

"How much do you like me?" he asked, his voice serious yet gentle. The kind of voice Kurt hadn't heard in a long time.

"A lot."

"That's not answer!" Blaine protested.

"Fine. I like you as much as...as much as the Italians like pasta." Kurt supplied, and Blaine snorted. Well, it was really a noise between a snort and a chuckle.

"I guess that's a lot, then."

"It is." Now Kurt felt it was the right time to take Blaine's hand, and he did so. It was just as warm and comforting as he remembered. Had it really been two months since they'd last seen each other? Last heard each other's voices, face to face?

Was Kurt really falling for him?

"I'm falling for you." Kurt blurted out.

"Let me take you out somewhere." Blaine said at exactly the same time.

Kurt's consequential smile could have split his face in half.

"Where did you have in mind?"

* * *

Later, much later, Blaine invited Kurt back to his own hotel, across the city.

"I know it's far but...d'you want to?" he asked, hope sparkling in those bright, hazel eyes that Kurt had come to be so familiar with. Both giddy and flushed with wine and the possibilities that the night held, Kurt reached once again for Blaine's hand, their fingers brushing together but not quite interlocking.

"I'd like to." Kurt replied simply, nodding the affirmative. He didn't know what had made him make such a bold decision, but he felt like it was the _right_ decision to make right now.

And so Blaine hailed a cab, and in Italian much better than Kurt's (and made him feel warm and fuzzy inside...and not just in his chest), directed the driver to a hotel that sounded very, very fancy, if the name of it was anything to by. Not that Kurt really knew what it meant in Italian.

When he saw the hotel, his jaw dropped.

"Cooper paid for it. It's not my style." Blaine said when he saw Kurt's expression.

"I've never been anywhere this nice, and I work for _Vogue_." Kurt replied, getting out of the cab and staring up in wonder. The building was pure white and half-covered in ivy, and golden letters across the front spelled out the name of the establishment in a swift penmanship that Kurt was _extremely_ jealous of.

"You like it?" Blaine asked sceptically, one eyebrow raised.

"I _love_ it." was the sincere reply.

Inside was even more magnificent than the outside. If he'd thought his hotel was nice, he hadn't seen _anything_ and had lived a rather sheltered life, hotel-wise. _This_ one had marble floors and gold leaf absolutely _everywhere_, gleaming mahogany furniture and huge gold-plated clocks hanging on the wall above the reception desk, each showing the time in a different country in a different time zone. In London, it was currently 11:32pm.

The woman manning the desk eyed them with a knowing look as they passed, heading for the elevators situated at the other end of the lobby.

Once inside and the elevator was taking them smoothly upwards, Kurt had a moment to reflect. _This is happening_, he thought. _This is actually happening. It's actually _happening_, right now, to _me.

_Rachel can never know about this_.

A few seconds later, they reached Blaine's floor. Kurt was excited and nervous at the same time; exhilarated, but shy. He wondered if Blaine would think badly of him for being nervous; this wasn't the type of thing he did everyday but oh, did he want it. He wanted it _badly_.

Blaine lead him silently to his room, slipping in the key card and swinging open the door when the little beep sounded to let them know it was unlocked. _This is actually happening_, Kurt's mind repeated, over and over. _I can't believe this is actually happening_.

Once they were inside, silence fell between them. The anticipation was palpable; you could have cut it with a knife. You could say he was stupid, but Kurt felt as though something electric was crackling in the air between them; excitement, and something else unknown.

They both stepped towards each other at the same time; took a step back at the same time, embarrassed, shy, nervous. Neither had done anything like this before. It was completely new, all of it, and they weren't sure how they should proceed, always careful of the reactions of the other.

"D'you want to...?" Blaine asked, rubbing the back of his neck. _A nervous habit_, Kurt thought. _But he doesn't have to be nervous. Does he? I'm nervous. Does that mean he's nervous? Stop babbling, Kurt!_

"Come here." Kurt hadn't meant for it to be an order; he didn't even know what had made him say it. All he knew was that he wanted it to happen, _now_.

Blaine wordlessly stepped into Kurt's slightly outstretched arms, his own arms immediately going around Kurt's waist, gripping him tight. Here, Blaine being short had its advantages; he fit neatly in his embrace, the top of his head in line with the tip of Kurt's nose. They stayed like this for a moment, silent, hearing the sound of each other's breath. At that moment, a rush of adrenaline surged through Kurt's body and he closed to gap between their lips in less than a second.

The kiss was sweet and tender and yet strong, assertive, similar and yet different from their first kiss all that time ago – had it really only been two months? - and Blaine automatically reached up to cup the side of Kurt's face, feeling the smoothness of his cheek beneath his fingertips. It wasn't the best kiss; their noses bumped, making them both giggle, and their teeth clashed somewhat painfully as Kurt made to change angles, but neither cared. They were nervous; this was new; it wasn't going to be perfect first time. Because Kurt did believe that it was the first time, the first time like this. _The first time I've ever kissed anybody and really wanted to_, he thought.

They both grew hungry for more, and Kurt took it upon himself to pull Blaine closer, wanting to feel every part of his body touch his. It was an overwhelming desire he'd never felt before.

Before he realised it, Blaine had him backed up against the door of the hotel room, and was kissing along his exposed jaw and neck, hard, desperate pecks that were all lips and emotion and a kind of release, a _finally, this is happening after so long_, release. Kurt gasped – just like in his fantasy – and grasped uselessly at Blaine's sweater, pulling it loose from his jeans, feeling warm skin beneath his palms.

"I have an idea." Blaine said, nuzzling his nose along the line of Kurt's neck. "If-if you'll let me."

"What is it?" Kurt asked, breathless, lifting Blaine's chin up to kiss him.

"I want to take a bath with you." he blurted, and then coloured almost immediately; he watched Kurt's face carefully for his reaction.

"I think I'd like that." Kurt heard himself say, although at the time he didn't remember saying it nor thinking about saying it. It had simply come out, the adrenaline of the moment storming through his veins and claiming his mind.

Blaine smiled, a quirk of the lips, and disentangled himself from Kurt to disappear into the large ensuite bathroom. Kurt heard the squeak of a tap and then the splash of running water. If his heart wasn't beating a mile a minute before, it was now. He just couldn't believe how he'd got so lucky. _This might just be the best day of my life. Well, the best day of my life so far_.

Minutes later, Blaine returned, looking pink and flushed but decidedly happy, and Kurt felt a twinge of pride. _I made him feel that way_, he thought. _I did that. _It was different with Blaine. Everything was different with Blaine. He liked it. No, he _loved_ it.

"Well, this is awkward." Blaine announced into the silence, perched on the edge of the equally large bed in the middle of the room. The sheets were bright white and gold with matching gold embroidery on the hems.

"It's not awkward." Kurt assured him. "I think the word you're looking for is _pleasant_ or _amiable_." Blaine smiled.

"You never fail to amuse me, Kurt Hummel."

"Okay, that's the second time you've used my full name now." Kurt accused teasingly. "Is there a reason for that, or...?"

"I like the way it sounds." Blaine said. Kurt lifted an eyebrow.

"You like...the way it sounds. You are something else, _Blaine Anderson_." Kurt retorted.

"Touché. I should have seen that one coming."

"I have nothing if not the element of surprise." Kurt said.

Blaine suddenly jumped up from the bed. "I think the bath's ready." he said softly.

And there it was again, that palpable electric energy, buzzing between them. Kurt's heart leapt in anticipation of what was to come, of what might – and could – happen. Wordlessly Blaine took his hand once more and lead him into the steamy bathroom, where, as he had predicted, a claw-footed tub – _claw footed! This is like a dream!_ - was filled with hot, inviting water. The scent of oranges from the copious amount of bubbles filled the air with the rising steam; Kurt was drawn in by its perfume and the heat, the proximity of the situation.

He took the reigns for the second time that night and slowly, without speaking, wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist and took the hem of his sweater in both hands, pulling sharply upwards, making it clear that he wanted it removed. It was up and off within seconds, and Blaine was bare from the waist up, breathing in deeply. Turning around in Kurt's arms, he kissed him as he began to unbutton Kurt's own shirt, navy cotton, and in the wake of the open buttons he moved his mouth to the skin that was rapidly being exposed.

When he reached the final button, he stopped, his lips hovering inches above the waistband of Kurt's pants, and he took a moment to press a lingering kiss to Kurt's stomach and simply revel in what was actually happening.

He slipped Kurt's shirt from his shoulders so that he was bare, too. Now, they were both equal. Kurt noticed that there were several scars across Blaine's chest; some small, some larger. Childhood injuries, or something more sinister? Now was not the time to ask, and he filed those questions away for a later date. Blaine's hands fluttered around zipper, and he looked up in silent enquiry, asking if he could continue with his removal of Kurt's clothes.

"At the same time." Kurt said, reaching for Blaine's own belt buckle. "To make it fair."

"That's a good idea." Blaine agreed. "D'you wanna do a countdown or something...?"

"Blaine, we're not blasting off a rocket." Kurt reminded him.

"Right, right, sorry. I'm nervous." he admitted, biting his lip. Kurt resisted the urge to stare at it. _Focus, Kurt! This is a very important moment in your life!_

"Don't be nervous. You're a flight attendant, remember? You've been 37,000ft up into the air. Surely you can do this if you can do _that_." Kurt assured him.

"Okay." Blaine said quietly, and in one swift movement, he pulled down Kurt's zipper. The material sagged around his hips for a moment before falling to the floor around his ankles, leaving him only in a pair of plain black boxer briefs that fitted like a second skin.

"What happened to at the same time?" Blaine asked, half-mocking.

"Sorry! I have a slow reaction time!" Kurt replied. "My turn now." With shaking hands and feeling like a giddy schoolgirl, he slowly unbuckled Blaine's belt, the metal of the buckle cool against his fingers in contrast with the roughness of the underside of the leather. The heavier denim was harder to remove, but a few tugs had the material falling down to puddle around his feet in the same way that Kurt's had.

"We match!" Blaine laughed, and Kurt looked down to see that Blaine, too, was wearing plain black boxer briefs.

"I have to say, your taste in fashion is impeccable." Kurt said.

"You're the fashion expert, you would know." Blaine replied. "But I believe that there's still one item of clothing that needs to come off...unless you'd rather get your underwear wet, of course."

Kurt went pink. _Of course. I have to take my underpants off. In front of Blaine. For the first time._

Closing his eyes tight, he hooked his thumbs into his underpants and pulled them off, letting them join his pants on the floor. He'd worry about getting them ironed and pressed later. When he opened them, he saw that Blaine had already taken off his own and had slipped in the tub himself to wait for him, a content smile on his face.

"Don't want to get the water cold, do we?" he said in reply to Kurt's confused expression.

"You are impossible."

"Just get _in_, Kurt. It's nice and warm."

"Alright, alright!" Kurt said, taking a few deep breaths to steel himself. So that he didn't look at his own body for too long, he quickly climbed into the deep water, sighing in relief at the blissful warmth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a bath; he usually just showered long enough to wash all over before getting out again.

_Maybe I just hadn't had anyone to share the experience with, _he thought, as Blaine's wet hands involuntarily reached for his hips to pull him down into the water, between his legs. At first Kurt panicked about slipping and falling, but then he remembered that Blaine was there behind him, bracketing him with his legs and arms so that didn't happen. He sank back into the bowl of his embrace, his head coming to rest in the crook of Blaine's neck between his jaw and shoulder. He heard a laugh from above him and he turned to look at Blaine questioningly.

"Your hair tickles." he said by way of explanation.

"Maybe you just have a really ticklish neck." Kurt replied, resting his head back again. The rhythmic movement of Blaine's chest against his back as he breathed in and out was soothing, their inhales and exhales almost matching in pattern. He would usually be embarrassed about being completely naked in front of a man he'd only kissed once – well, twice now – but he wasn't. He really wasn't. _This is weird and amazing all at the same time_.

Blaine ran his fingers across Kurt's forearm, making the hairs there stand up on end. It was such a simple touch, so gentle, but it made Kurt feel..._special_. Wanted. Not many people had made him feel like that, at least not in a romantic sense. The hot water combined with the intimacy, the romance of the setting felt wonderful. Not for the first time, he felt like he was in a movie; nothing like this had ever happened to him back in New York. He never thought it would, until now.

It felt like a fairytale, but one that was happening to _him_. He could scarcely believe it.

"What are you thinking about?" Blaine asked curiously.

"How lucky I am." Kurt answered honestly. Well, it was true. He was incredibly, _incredibly_ lucky.

"That's where you're wrong." Blaine countered. Kurt turned to look at him, his mouth muffled by the damp skin of Blaine's neck.

"And why is that?"

"Because _I'm_ the lucky one." he said simply, interlocking Kurt's fingers with his across Kurt's stomach, so that their hands were intertwined. Kurt noticed the tan colour of Blaine's skin compared to his own milk-bottle white complexion, the way his nails were shorter and wider than his own.

"That's not true." Kurt mumbled, half-sleepy, half too content to even _do _anything.

"It's true if I say it is."

"Right."

"I mean it!"

"Sure."

A comfortable silence fell between them, the only sound being the sound of each other's breathing in the air. Steam continued to rise from the tub, but whether that was from the hot water or the heat of their bodies, it was impossible to tell. Kurt would like to think that it was a bit of both.

He felt Blaine's lips press against a spot just under his jaw, feather-light and barely touching, but it made Kurt shiver pleasantly regardless.

"You're a like a kitten getting its belly rubbed." Blaine commented.

"I'd rather not be compared to small furry animal that can bite and scratch, thank you."

"It's a compliment!"

"I know. I was just teasing." Kurt said with a smile.

* * *

Later, with the bathtub emptied and their skin damp and flushed pink from the heat and the steam, they lay alongside each other in their underwear on the bed, each glancing at the other shyly every few seconds. Kurt was sure that Blaine could hear his heart beat hard and fast in his chest, but if he could, he didn't say anything about it.

"I guess I should go..." Kurt began, unsure of whether that was the right thing to say. He didn't _want_ to go, of course he didn't. _I'd stay here forever if I could. If he'd let me_.

"D'you want to?" Blaine asked.

"No." Kurt replied.

"Then don't. Stay here tonight." Kurt heard the unspoken phrase; _Stay here with me_.

"I will." Kurt said. He inched his hand across the space between them and Blaine took it, squeezing his fingers and rubbing a thumb across the taught skin of his knuckles.

"D'you want to...you know, get in the bed or...?" Blaine stammered, and Kurt warmed to his endearing nervousness.

"I'd like that." Kurt nodded, feeling bold again.

Silently, they slipped from the bed in unison and pulled back the heavy duvet, revealing crystal white sheets, soft and smooth and welcoming. Kurt looked at Blaine for reassurance. _I don't want to do this completely wrong_, he thought. _I want to do this right for once in my life_.

At the same time, they slid into the bed, both grinning like idiots but both feeling very, very happy. _Oh, get a grip, Kurt. You've already seen him naked. What more could you possibly have to see? _

They turned to face each other, but Kurt stopped him, and motioned for him to turn back around. Blaine obliged, and Kurt sidled up behind him, putting his arms around his waist and sliding his legs in between his, so that they were tangled together, their toes touching. His breath fanned out against the back of Blaine's neck and he shuddered beneath him, his breathing deep and even.

Blaine reached out to switch off the last remaining light and the room was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from a sliver of a gap in the curtains, which had long since been drawn shut. In the distance, a car horn hooted and the sound of traffic was a faint hum in the background, the soundtrack to the scene.

An airplane raced overhead, loud and rumbling, and Kurt fought back a smile, even though he knew that Blaine couldn't see it in the darkness.

"You're smiling, aren't you?" Blaine asked suddenly, and Kurt was taken aback.

"Are you psychic?"

"No. I can just tell." Blaine answered.

"Are you?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah."

Kurt pressed his face into Blaine's neck, his nose brushing against the curls that had sprung loose there. He inhaled deeply.

_Coffee, clean wool and optimism. Just as I had imagined it would be_.

He had another six days here. Another six days to explore and experience and enjoy. It was another six days with Blaine, and that was all that mattered. No more quick conversations in crowded airplanes or kisses in tiny bathrooms that were so small they could have been made for Smurfs. Here was six days of freedom, of privacy all to themselves, and he was not going to waste a minute.

* * *

_**A/N: And there you have it - the moment you've all been waiting for has finally arrived! I'm especially happy with this chapter because it contains Klaine sharing a bath, which is one of my FAVOURITE Klaine scenarios because aslmdgjodhhkdff it's so cute. So, did it live up to your expectations? Leave a review and let me know what you thought!**_


	7. March: London Part 1

**_A/N: "What?" you ask, "She's back so soon!" Well, I'll tell you why. I kind of got carried away with this chapter and it ended up being far too long, so I've decided to split it into two parts to make it easier for me to write, you to read and to keep you on your toes! So, here's part 1, which is incidentally 12 pages long on my word processor. Enjoy!_  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**March: London (Part 1)**

"Sometimes I really hate that you're a flight attendant." Kurt said, huffing in annoyance over the phone and hoping that Blaine didn't think that he was mad at _him_.

"I'm really sorry." Blaine replied, for the hundredth time during their conversation. "It's a twenty-four hour shift and I'm pretty much back and forth all day with no break in between. I hate letting you down."

"Where did you say you were going again?"

"London. I've actually never been before, it should be fun. Not that I'll get to see much of the city while I'm there, unless I can somehow bribe my boss to let me have a few days before coming back." he explained.

Kurt hated this. With Blaine working such a busy job, they barely had time to spend together via the phone or video call, or even to meet up in a mutual spot in the city so that they could see each other face to face. When the only way you could meet was in an airport on your way to a distant location, things started to get annoying.

On the plus side, this difficulty reminded Kurt that, _oh, he had a boyfriend now_ and he sometimes had to pinch himself hard to check that he wasn't dreaming. He, Kurt Hummel, had an actual, proper boyfriend. One he could see himself actually _going_ somewhere with other than the bedroom. Not that he would know much about that side of things, because he and Blaine hadn't done..._that_ yet.

There was a pause in which Kurt was almost a hundred percent sure that Blaine was thinking about something.

"You know..." he started, swallowing loudly on the other end of the phone. "You could always come with me."

"What?!"

"I said, you should come with me. We'll go away together, for a weekend or something. It'll be like Rome, only better."

_Rome. The place where it had all started, for real. _Kurt flushed at the memories that reached the forefront of his mind, felt that same rush of adrenaline and excitement.

"I don't think I'll be able to, Blaine." Kurt said with deep regret. It was true – his work commitments were almost as busy as Blaine's and finding extra time to go away would be near impossible. But still...he could _try_, he couldn't he? It was always worth trying.

"I wish you weren't so busy." Blaine sighed.

"I wish _you_ weren't so busy." was the reply.

"Okay." Blaine suggested. "How about we make a compromise? We'll both try and get time off work. I'll see if I can get a few days in London, and you'll see if you can get time off to come with me. We'll both at least try, and if it doesn't work, then we'll work something else out. Sound good?"

It did. It really, really did. It sounded perfect, actually, and Kurt wanted so badly for it to work.

"Sounds good." Kurt agreed, using all the strength in his body to sound optimistic. The truth was, he'd been feeling a little down lately and the possibility of being able to see Blaine again – and not through a computer screen – would certainly be the antidote he needed to lift his spirits. "I'll see what I can do."

"Great!" Blaine said cheerfully, and that alone made Kurt feel better.

Even after three weeks, the feeling was still new and raw and Kurt was still getting used to the idea that, after five months, he and Blaine finally had a _thing_. _Was it a _thing? He thought. _Is there another word for it? I wouldn't call it a _relationship_...definitely not. We're not there yet, whatever 'there' is supposed to be_.

His eyes strayed to a photograph on his nighstand. He knew it had been risky putting it there, but what else could he do? The photograph showed him and Blaine in front of the Trevi Fountain, taken by a passing tourist who'd said that they were 'a lovely couple'. The comment had made them blush and giggle like little girls; Kurt remembered it clearly. He'd kept it because...well, because it was where everything had finally come to a head. He'd have to remember to put it away if Rachel or his parents turned up as they sometimes did out of the blue, because for now, he'd like to keep his new romance a secret. Kurt liked his privacy.

Blaine must have realised he'd gone quiet, because he spoke again.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked.

"In what?"

"Me, for not being able to see you." Blaine said.

"Blaine, don't be silly. Of course I'm not disappointed in you, it's not your fault. It's not something you can control." Kurt replied. Why on earth would Blaine think that he was disappointed in him? The very idea was ridiculous.

"Really?"

"_Really_." Kurt assured him. "I don't blame you, not in the slightest. We'll make it work."

"You know, I haven't seen your apartment yet. I don't even know where you live." Blaine said unexpectedly, an edge of mischief in his voice.

"Blaine Anderson, what are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that I actually get to see where you spend your time when you're not at work." Blaine replied, light and suggestive.

"Nuh-uh. Not in your dreams, Blaine. Not yet. I'm getting it redecorated soon, you can see it then."

"Aw!" he protested. "Not fair, Kurt. I sent you a picture of mine last week."

"I didn't say I was going to be fair." Kurt smirked.

"You're smirking, aren't you?" Blaine asked.

Kurt choked on air.

"_How_ do you do that? It's like you're reading my mind or something!" he exclaimed. "That's like the third time you've done that now."

"I told you I have a sixth sense."

"Sure."

"I do!"

"Now you're just embarrassing yourself."

"Like I said." Blaine said. "You're one of a kind. I wish all my passengers were like you." A pause. "Then again, going by what we did in the shower that one morning, maybe that's not such a good idea..."

"Blaine!" Kurt spluttered. "You can't just-just go around _broadcasting_ stuff like that!"

"Why not? Nobody's here to hear me, except my dog Henry, but I doubt he understands human English."

"You have a dog?" Kurt asked. _Of course he has a dog. I bet he's great with all manner of small, cute animals. _"I didn't think most landlords allowed pets."

"They don't, but I managed to make an arrangement with mine. I've had Henry since I was nineteen. He's really dumb and costs me a fortune in dog food, but he's great company when you need it." Blaine said. Then he chuckled, and added, "And now he's just climbed into my lap looking for affection."

"I'm a cat person, myself. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs, but I like that cats have this air of superiority about them, like they're untouchable." Kurt said.

"Cats are evil." Blaine stated.

"Dogs bite."

"Cats scratch."

"There is nothing wrong with cats." Kurt said. "They are perfectly decent pets."

"Everything is wrong with cats." Blaine argued.

"Maybe you haven't met the right cat, then." Kurt told him.

"I love how easy talking to you is." Blaine said softly. "It feels like I've known you all my life."

"Same here." Kurt replied. "I don't even know how to describe it...it's quite something, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. It's _something_, all right. I'm so glad I met you." Blaine said sincerely. Kurt knew that he meant every word, because it was the way that he felt, too.

"So am I." was his reply.

* * *

As Kurt had known, bartering for time off work – even a measly weekend – proved to be very, very difficult. _Don't they know I'm Head of Department? Twenty people work for me!_ He thought viciously as Victoria came to relay a message that his supervisor had yet to schedule vacation hours for him. _How can I not have vacation hours to spare? I've barely _had_ a vacation for three years, apart from when I went to Rome! I've been stuck in this office!_

But he didn't want to let Blaine down, not at all, and so he kept trying. He wanted to spend a weekend in London with his new boyfriend – who, if he asked nicely, would probably get him discounted flight tickets (but of course he wasn't in it for the air mile discounts, it was so much more than that – and that's what he would do, come hell or high water.

He took his work schedule and salary data home with him and pored over it at night whilst eating take-out Chinese food (he hadn't been in the mood to cook) and ignoring any calls that displayed the caller ID _Rachel Berry. _Forgive him for being rude, but he wasn't in the mood to discuss which type of flower would make her look the prettiest as she walked down the aisle.

Eventually, he found something he could work with.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, leaping up from the sofa in victory. "I _am_ entitled to weekend vacations in any European country at least twice a year. I knew it!" He was so glad, he felt like doing a little jig right there in his living room, but didn't in case somebody was watching. (They weren't, but he was paranoid).

This was _perfect_. And they couldn't even argue with him about it because it was written right here in his employment contract! _Kurt Hummel: 1, Vogue: 0. _Don't get him wrong, he loved working for _Vogue, _even more than he ever would have loved working on the stage or screen as an actor, but sometimes it was, well...frustrating. Like now. But fortunately, that had been resolved and he couldn't wait to grace Blaine with the good news.

He called him that night.

"Guess what?"he asked.

"What?" Blaine said, curious.

"What were we talking about the other day about going to London...?" Kurt prompted excitedly.

"Don't tell me you managed to work something out?" Blaine asked, his voice taking on that happy, excited edge that Kurt loved.

"I may have." Kurt teased, determined to keep his voice even, though it was a struggle.

"Oh my God, that's great!" Blaine all but shouted, and Kurt had to laugh at his exuberance. It was one of the things that had drawn him to Blaine when they had first met on that flight to Paris nearly six months ago now; his energy, and how he had so much of it.

"I know! I found a loophole in my contract that said I was allowed a vacation in a European country twice a year at the minimum and I haven't taken either of those vacations yet, Rome was covered by another part of the contract, so I'm free whatever weekend you please to come to London with you." Kurt explained, relishing the way the phrase felt on his tongue.

_To come to London with you. To come to London with _you. _To come to London _with _you. To come to _London_ with you_. Wherever he placed the emphasis, it gave him a delicious thrill to hear it said out loud.

"That's great, I was-I was hoping you'd be able to. I mean, I didn't _want_ to get my hopes up, well, I _did_, but I didn't want to be disappointed, not that I'm disappointed in _you..._fuck, I'm getting this all wrong again, aren't I?" Blaine stumbled over his words, cursing himself when the words didn't come out right.

"No, no you're not." Kurt said gently. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Blaine. You're doing great. We're both new at this."

"Well, that's not really true for me...I was in a serious relationship before but – but it didn't end so well." Blaine confessed. "At all."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. D'you mind me asking...why, or is that too personal for a three-week anniversary?"

"No, it's fine. But...but I think I'll leave that story for another day, if you don't mind." Blaine said.

"Of course." Kurt said softly. "I understand." And he did. He wasn't just saying that to placate Blaine, he really, really meant it. They had all the time in the world to learn everything there was to know about each other. There was no need to rush it. They didn't have to.

"Thanks. Not a lot of people do." Blaine replied.

"You can't have met anyone worth keeping around, then." Kurt noted. _I mean, if you aren't willing to understand and respect someone's personal situation, why bother? _It was something of a personal issue for him, having gone through a period of bullying and crippling isolation during high school. None of his so-called 'friends' had seemed to care; none of them really understood what he had been going through all that time. He could relate to the way Blaine felt.

"Not until now, I haven't." Blaine said, and Kurt bit back a smile. He really was too nice for his own good.

"You're too nice, you know that?" Kurt said.

"I do my best." Blaine replied. "It's part of the job, I can never turn it off."

"True. Nobody wants a grumpy flight attendant ordering them around."

"Exactly. We have pretty high standards, you know. Not just anyone can come off the street and be a flight attendant. It's an art."

"So, Mr Flight Attendant with really high standards, have you managed to negotiate a vacation yet?" Kurt asked the burning question; the reason, really, why he had called. But of course, it wasn't the only reason. He loved hearing Blaine's warm voice, whether on the phone or in person. _I bet he can sing really well with a voice like that_, he thought absently.

"Unfortunately, no. My boss can be pretty rigid with the schedule but I'll keep trying." Blaine promised. "But only for you." If Kurt could have seen him, he probably would have winked at that last part. Kurt felt a little weak-kneed just thinking about it.

"Only for me? I feel privileged." Kurt said, pretending to swoon but then realising that Blaine couldn't see him. He went pink, and then realised that Blaine couldn't see _that_, either.

"Oh, I think you should be." Blaine replied, their serious conversation turning back to playful and teasing; easy-going, simple, the way Kurt always felt that he could talk with Blaine. "It's you I like, it's you I'm with. There's nobody else I'd rather _go_ to London with. It's a given."

_It's you I'm with_. Just hearing the phrase made Kurt's skin tingle in a totally not unpleasant way. He would like to experience that feeling more often, he decided.

"Even if I'm with a hundred other passengers on the same flight?" Kurt asked.

"Even then." Blaine assured him. "I promise I'll have it all worked out in a few days."

"I'll hold you to that."

* * *

As it turned out, it didn't even take a few days for Blaine to have everything sorted out.

The very next afternoon, whilst Kurt was in a (very important) staff meeting, his cellphone rang. His fellow co-workers stared at him for a few moments while the dulcet tones of the ring tone reverberated throughout the conference room. He had the urge to snap at them, _What are you looking at_? But he bit his tongue and fished his cellphone from the bag next to him on the desk.

_Caller ID: Blaine_.

"Sorry, I just really have to take this. Emergency." Kurt excused himself from the room and shuffled out as quickly as he could without looking a) suspicious and b) like an idiot. Once outside, he quickly pressed _Receive Call_ and put the phone to his ear.

"So?" he asked excitedly, hovering on the balls of his feet but trying to curb his enthusiasm in case someone spotted him.

"I worked it out with my boss and got three days off to spend at my leisure." Blaine announced, rather proudly, on the other end of the line. "Which means, of course, that I can now officially ask you to come to London with me. So, Kurt, will you come?"

"You really think I would say no?" Kurt said.

"A gentleman always has to ask." Blaine replied. "It's good manners." Kurt went a little pink at that, although he knew Blaine couldn't see him. _I feel like I'm in a Victorian romance novel_, he thought giddily. _And it doesn't feel corny or cheesy in the slightest_.

"Then I must say that yours are impeccable." Kurt commented, aiming for flattery. It must have worked, because Blaine laughed and Kurt imagined him ducking his head in embarrassment, a habit Kurt had noticed he had when someone complimented him. "When are we leaving?"

"Next weekend, Friday to Sunday, after my last shift." Blaine said, and Kurt felt a pleasant _swooping_ in his stomach.

"I can't wait." Kurt said, and he meant it. "I'll actually have something to look forward to except Chinese food, sorting out the department payroll and listening to my crazy best friend complain that the lighting isn't right in her chosen wedding venue so that if the sun hits the windows at a certain angle, she'll look jaundiced."

Blaine snorted. "Really?"

"Yes, really. You have no idea. Be thankful you've never met her. Sometimes I wish I hadn't." Kurt replied.

"Oh, come on, you don't mean that." Blaine said. "I'm sure she's lovely."

"She's a nightmare."

"Maybe I should give a second opinion."

"No _way_. I plan on keeping you as far from Rachel Berry as possible. Well, soon to be Rachel st James."

"I'm sure she won't be pleased to hear about _that_." Blaine said.

"She'll survive. She's overcome worse." Kurt said curtly, with an air of finality. "So, next Friday?"

"Next Friday." Blaine confirmed. _Is that smugness I detect? _Kurt thought. _I don't care, it's cute. Wait, did I just think something a guy did was cute? Oh God, I really am in too deep. The last person I thought was cute was Finn, my _stepbrother. _But this is so much more than that ever was_.

"You're thinking too much again." Blaine noted, and Kurt once again felt as though Blaine could read minds.

"Blaine!" Kurt protested. "You said you'd stop doing that!"

"You love it."

_Yeah, _Kurt thought, _I do. _

"Right, I gotta go, okay? You kind of interrupted an important staff meeting and I need to get back in there before everyone gets suspicious." Kurt said quickly, taking a glance through the small window in the door of the conference room to see if his co-workers were getting restless. He'd been gone too long already and was very self-conscious of that fact.

Even if getting to talk to Blaine was completely worth it.

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't aware you were busy...I mean, I knew you must be at work but I didn't think. I'll call at a better time next time." Blaine apologised.

"Oh, no, believe me, it wasn't a very exciting meeting." Kurt said quickly. "I just won't give the best impression, that's all. I can always make it up to them later, anyway. As long as the March issue's done on time, they don't really care what anybody does."

"I'll take your word for it. I was never into all of that high-flying fashion journalism stuff."

"Okay, I _really_ gotta go, so I'll see you on Friday, okay? I'll wear something noticeable so you can see me." Kurt said. "Maybe a donkey costume or something."

"I highly doubt _you_ would wear a _donkey_ costume." Blaine quipped.

"I'm going now, Blaine." Kurt said, glancing through the conference room window again. _They are going to kill me for this._

"Alright, alright. Bye. I'll see you soon. Bye."

"Bye." Kurt replied.

"Bye."

"Stop saying bye!"

"Okay...bye."

"Bye."

Kurt pressed _End Call_, feeling strangely elated. He had plans to write in his diary and he would rather die before he forgot them.

Well, maybe that was a bit dramatic. But he would curse himself for all eternity if he let himself forget that this weekend – _this weekend!_ - he was going to London. For three days. With Blaine. Who just so happened to be his secret (for now) boyfriend.

This was going to be _perfect_ and Friday couldn't come fast enough.

In fact, the days seemed to drag on slower than usual. He went to work, he yelled at a few people (he was allowed to do that now, he had his own team of workers and he was obliged to yell at them from time to time), and got Victoria to do everything that he didn't have to do himself. Yes, he was being a little lazy; but budding love could do that to you, right?

_Wait, did I just think _budding love_? Is this love? _He thought. _Is it too early to tell? _

He put the thought into the back of his mind for now, not wanting it to be a distraction. Yes, he really liked Blaine; yes, he was looking forward to their impending 'city break', if that's what it was called. But it didn't mean that he was ready to admit _that_ yet. Certainly not. It was far too early for that.

They'd only been together for three weeks.

And so he got on with his days and counted down the rest until he could see Blaine again with all the enthusiasm and giddiness of a 13 year old girl with her first boyfriend. Sue him if he was happy.

But he would never admit to anyone that he'd stuck a piece of paper on his desk at home and drawn a makeshift calender on it marking the days until he left. That would just be embarrassing.

The wait was endless and infuriating. Not for the first time in his lifetime, he wished he had the ability to make time to faster, or at least own a time machine so that he could fast-forward the mundane and get to the part he really wanted to see. It was like watching a movie that you weren't that interested in, but you went to see it anyway, and now you just keep waiting for something exciting to happen that'll catch your attention because, up until now, it's been pretty boring and uneventful.

Pretty much like the latest _Batman_ movie that Rachel had forced him to watch because she had, at the time, a crush on Christian Bale.

More often than not, Kurt would catch himself staring into space at his desk or on the sofa in his apartment, looking at nothing in particular, his mind far away. Or rather, his mind _was_ in a particular place, but one that he didn't wish to repeat in case it got out that he was using company time to fantasize about the things he and Blaine might or might not do in London.

At night. In bed. In the shower. Even, once, in a public bathroom, which had both thrilled and grossed out Kurt, who had never thought his fantasies would extend to such...sordid scenarios.

Of course, he wouldn't be telling Blaine about any of this. He'd rather keep _that_ to himself, thank you very much. The last thing he wanted was to scare him off.

One of these such days was Wednesday. Kurt had never liked Wednesdays; he found them meaningless and unproductive, the mid-week mundane. It was the half-way point between Monday and Friday and Kurt had always thought that they were pointless. It was the time of the week when everything and everyone became sluggish, eager for it to be the weekend so that they could kick back and relax and re-energise for the following Monday.

Which was why he was currently reclined on his sofa in his pyjamas at 7pm, half-watching _Project Runway_ and letting his mind run riot with the thought of everything that was to come on Friday.

He never thought he'd end up looking forward to getting on an airplane as much as he did now. He almost felt as though he was becoming un-Kurt-like, if that was even something that could happen. Maybe it was true when people said that you change when you meet someone you'd like to change _for. _

_Oh God, I really am in too deep. _

He was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of the buzzer on the door of the apartment, meaning that somebody wanted to come in. Grumbling irritably, he heaved himself off the sofa, paused the TV and crossed over to the door. He pressed the buzzer.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"It's me." A small, sniffling voice said on the other side. "Rachel."

_Oh, for goodness' sake. Can't she do anything without consulting me? _He thought, attempting to repress his annoyance in favour of friendship and a show of solidarity.

"Come on in." he said, unlocking the door and holding it open for her. But what awaited him was not something he could ever have expected.

Rachel was standing on his doorstep shivering in a drenched trench coat, her hair in disarray and copious amounts of mascara smeared around her tiny, watering eyes. Kurt's previous annoyance evaporated on sight of her, small and defeated, and his protective instincts immediately took over.

"What happened?" he asked, with as much concern as he could muster. "Why are you all wet?"

"Jesse locked me outside in the rain." she sniffed pitifully, hugging her arms around herself. "We had a fight." She looked around the apartment hopefully. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, of course, sure." he said, putting an arm around her waist – not even caring that she was soaked to the skin – and guiding her inside, closing the door behind her. He put her on the sofa the way you would handle one of those creepy porcelain dolls that had always freaked him out as a kid, before going into the kitchen to put on the coffee maker.

"Wait – how did you get here?" Kurt called from the kitchen counter, over the sound of the coffee machine heating up noisily. _I'll have to get a new one sometime_, he thought, _this one is driving me crazy_.

"I walked." Rachel said, blowing her nose loudly on a tissue from the box Kurt kept on the little table next to the sofa.

"You walked six blocks? In the rain?" Kurt's mouth dropped open in shock, unable to believe that she'd come all that way in the heavy downpour.

"I didn't know what else to do. I didn't have enough money for a cab." she explained. "So I just...walked."

Kurt heaped coffee into the coffee maker and put a mug underneath the spout with a little milk. He got out a second mug and put it aside to make his own coffee later.

"What did you and Jesse fight about?" he enquired, as casually as possible; he was frustrated that Rachel had ruined his perfectly enjoyable evening, but he also cared about her and tried to hide his disdain for her fiancé as much as he could.

"Something silly. Stupid stuff, really. He suggested we sing about it, can you believe that?" she snapped, blowing her nose _again. Yeah, actually I can_, Kurt thought to himself. _It sounds like something he would do_.

"What about the wedding?" Kurt stirred Rachel's coffee in quick, circular motions, adding a little cold water so that it wouldn't be too hot. Rachel turned to him with huge, wide eyes.

"You don't think he'll postpone it, do you?" she asked tearfully, her lower lip trembling in an almost comic fashion, but Kurt decided it would be rude and insensitive to laugh at her given the current situation.

"I'm not really the right person to answer that, Rachel. I don't know." he shrugged, bringing her the mug and putting it in her shaking hands. She brought it close to her face and inhaled deeply, took a tiny sip. "Good?" he asked, referring to the coffee.

"Yes, thanks." she sniffed. Normally he would crack a joke, albeit a sarcastic one, about the way she looked when she cried but he didn't think that this was the time. Kurt gave her a tiny smile, but she did not return it. He made his coffee and sat down next to her on the sofa.

"Do you need to stay here tonight?" he asked. "You can, if you want. It's just me here so you won't be bothered."

"You really don't mind?"

"Of course not." Kurt insisted.

"Then I'll stay here, if that's okay. I don't have anything with me though..." she began, but Kurt put up his hand to silence her.

"You can borrow something of mine. It would be a first to say that I let a girl wear my clothes." At this, Rachel laughed a little and this made Kurt feel better. _At least she's stopped crying_, he thought. _That's a good thing, right? _

Whilst Rachel finished her coffee, he busied himself with finding spare blankets and a pillow she could use as a makeshift bed. He regretted that he had only one bedroom and that it was reserved for his own use only; he didn't really want to put Rachel on the couch, but what choice did he have? He also found her an old pair of sweats that he would forcefully deny he ever owned that she could swear as pyjamas for the night. He normally slept in them in the winter when the climate in New York became bitterly cold.

Kurt was coming back into the living room with an armful of blankets and the pillow and clothes balanced on top when he stopped dead.

"What's this?" Rachel held up a piece of paper. Or rather, the piece of paper on which he'd drawn his fake calendar with the days marked until his trip to London. There were only two days left on it unmarked. "Are you going somewhere?"

_Well, the cat's out of the bag now. I knew I shouldn't have left that lying around where people like Rachel could see it_. Kurt was torn. Did he tell Rachel, or did he not? He knew what would happen if he did. She'd freak out and tell everyone, and then _they_ would freak out, and then Kurt would get the Spanish Inquisition by way of a hundred and one phone calls from said 'everyone'.

But he supposed it was too late for all of that now.

"I'm going to London on Friday." Kurt confessed, putting down his pile on the floor at Rachel's feet.

"Alone? Kurt, you really have to start meeting people, it's just depressing when you're spending so much time on your own-" Rachel started, but Kurt cut her off sharply.

"I'm not going alone!" he blurted out. A smile sneaked across his face. "I'm going with someone."

"Like a _boyfriend_ someone?" Rachel asked curiously, suddenly forgetting her own despair in exchange for hearing gossip about Kurt's love life. _Typical Rachel. _

"Well...yeah." Kurt admitted, biting his lip._ Might as well let everything out, now. She'll find out anyway. _If it was possible, Rachel's eyes got even wider.

"Who _is_ he? Do I know him? What's he like? How long have you been seeing him? And, most importantly, _why on earth did you not tell me? _We're supposed to be best friends!"

"You don't know him." Kurt said quickly. "And we've only been together for three weeks."

Cogs seemed to be working deep inside Rachel's head and her brow was furrowed the way it was when she was thinking about something. The intensity in her eyes was recognisable anywhere. _Oh, no_.

"Didn't you go to Rome three weeks ago?" _There it is_, Kurt thought. _Shit_.

"Yes..." he decided to approach with caution; he hadn't expected her to catch on so quickly given her current state.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, actually leaping off the couch with the force of her own realisation – _I didn't even know that happened in real life_ - "You went to Rome with this guy! Or did you meet him there?"

"Something like that." Kurt said, trying not to give anything away. Well, it was a half-truth – he _did_ meet Blaine there, but he didn't 'meet' him there. He already knew Blaine when they'd ended up in Rome together at the same time. It was just a happy coincidence.

"That's not answer, Kurt. I need details!" she enthusiastically patted the spot on the couch next to her. "C'mon, Kurt, I'm in a state of heartbreak and need cheering up!"

Kurt rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Rachel had more mood swings than a bipolar pregnant woman.

Deciding he might as well give up trying to fight her on it, he sat back down and wondered where to start.

"Remember I told you about Blaine?" Kurt began, watching her tear-stained face closely for a reaction.

"The flight attendant?"

"Yeah, him." Kurt said. "Well, I told you that he kissed me, right?" He really hoped he wouldn't have to spell it out for her. _So much for my own privacy_, he thought.

"Wait, don't tell me...you went to Rome with _him_?" she shrieked, practically in his ear, and he jumped back a bit out of the range of her dulcet tones.

"Not exactly." Kurt allowed himself a grin. "I bumped into him there and we went out and things sort of...happened."

"Like _sex_?" Rachel gasped again, and Kurt pulled a face.

"What? Rachel, no, nothing like that! We just cuddled!" Kurt implored, feeling his face burning with the implications of Rachel's comment. "But we may have been in our underwear."

Rachel squealed.

"Alright, alright, that's enough kiss and tell." Kurt said, picking up the pile on the floor. "Go get changed and I'll make you up a bed. I'm sorry I don't have a guestroom you can use, so it's the couch, I'm afraid."

"That's alright. My dads made me sleep on an old potato sack once when I was eleven and refused to go shopping for new ballet shoes because I wanted a pony instead." Rachel said.

"Right..." Kurt said, then pointed at her ferociously. "Get changed. Scram."

When Rachel disappeared into the bathroom, Kurt sat back against the sofa and let out a huge, long sigh. "What am I going to do with you, Rachel?" he murmured to himself.

While he waited, Kurt checked his cellphone. No new messages. He had to admit, his heart sank a little. He had expected – no, hoped – to see something from Blaine. He had a habit of sending random messages at all hours of the day, things like _How are you?, I wish I could be with you_ and _You have a really nice laugh_. There were others that were less cutesy and romantic, however, and more towards the seductive. Those, he liked best.

He flicked to his photo album and came up with a photograph of him and Blaine. They were at the entryway of the Roman Colosseum, their arms around each other. Well, one arm in Kurt's case – the other was extended in front of them, to take the picture. The light from inside the ancient monument shone on their twin smiles.

It was the photograph of two people who had been together for months, maybe even years, not three mere weeks. But oh, did Kurt feel as if they'd been dating for that amount of time. It felt amazing, if he was honest with himself.

Suddenly remembering what it was that he was supposed to be doing, he put his phone aside and set about making up Rachel's bed. He put two of his best pillows on one end of the couch and draped two blankets across it, meaning to be a mattress of sorts to cover the uneven surface of the couch cushions, and added another, thicker one on top. It was a winter blanket, really, but without the heavy warmth of a duvet, Rachel would get cold out here in the living room.

Once that was done, he patted the blankets smooth and fluffed the pillows as much as he possibly could, biding time until he could disappear into his bedroom and sleep away the night until there was one less day to wait until he'd see Blaine, until he'd be with him.

Later that night, he heard his bedroom creak open. Light from the living room spilled in through the open door and he saw Rachel standing there, timid and swamped in his borrowed clothes, looking pale and forlorn.

"Kurt?" she called quietly. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah." he replied, sitting up and running his hands through his hair. "Are you okay?"

"N-not really." she said. "I'm just so used to sleeping with Jesse b-by my side and now that he's not h-here..."

Kurt half-smiled in the darkness, pulling back the duvet. "Get in, then." He nodded in the direction of the space next to him.

Within seconds, Rachel was sliding under the duvet by his side and burying herself against his side, the way she used to when they shared a bed back when they were still living together, before Kurt got his promotion and decided he should get an apartment of his own. He had to admit, he'd missed it a little. It was like having a cat, but a lot bigger and human.

Not that he'd ever tell her he'd thought of her as a cat.

"I'm really glad you're my best friend, Kurt." Rachel said almost happily as she burrowed down, pulling the duvet up to her chin.

But, as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help remember the last person he'd done this with, and how different the circumstances had been.

* * *

**A/_N: Well, well, well! What did you guys think? As always, let me know your thoughts in a review! You can also contact me on tumblr, my URL is likesboyswholikeboys and there's also the fic tag there, 'love at 37000ft'. Until next time, where our boys will be headed to one of my favourite cities in the world - London!_**


	8. March: London Part 2

**_A/N: So this chapter is 20 pages long...which is a new record for me. Sorry for the wait, I've had to deal with temperamental laptops, university prep and life in general which is why it's taken me longer than usual to get this one done. _  
**

**_This chapter also comes with a surprise - not only is it wicked long and therefore has more to enjoy, the story is now officially rated M!_**

**_So without further ado, the customary warnings for this chapter are: sex, rimming, barebacking, bottom!Kurt (though I don't understand how that's a warning)_**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**March: London (Part 2)**

Everything was ready.

Kurt was aware that yes, he had probably packed far too much for just three days but his motto was, _Always be prepared_. That, and _Every moment of your life is an opportunity for fashion_, something that he'd carried with him since his high school days.

All he needed now was to call Blaine to make the final arrangements to meet, and he could be on his way in less than a few hours. He would be lying if he said he wasn't jumping for joy at the mere _thought_ of their impending travel arrangements.

To be thorough, he had packed for three types of weather; heat, cold and rain. He knew that the weather in Britain was subject to change rapidly and often without warning, so he had tried to anticipate that and packed a few of his cosier cashmere sweaters and an umbrella, just in case, along with jeans that he didn't mind getting wet. So it was fair to say that he was ready for anything that London might decide to throw at him.

On Thursday night, he called Blaine. He knew it was late; it was 11pm. He hoped Blaine would still be awake, but judging by his round-the-clock shift, he probably would be. But the last thing Kurt wanted was to disturb him if he was trying to get some sleep.

"Hey." Blaine said sleepily. "I didn't think you'd be up this late."

"I was just thinking the same thing about you. I hope I didn't disturb you, you sound tired." Kurt replied, putting aside the order forms for violet taffeta. He hoped he wouldn't wake Rachel, who had gone back to sleeping on the couch in the living room after the initial shock of her fight with Jesse had worn off.

"Oh, this? It's nothing. I'll just sleep on the plane tomorrow." Blaine said, yawning loudly. _Tomorrow. He was seeing Blaine tomorrow_. No matter how many times he was reminded of it, it still felt like the first time and it never failed to make him feel warm all over.

"Don't you ever get sick of flying?" Kurt asked, curious. He wondered if it was possible to get bored of something you did every single day. One of his first part-time jobs, before he landed his internship at _Vogue_, had been as a waiter in this tiny little café. He drank tea for three months whilst he worked there because he couldn't stand to see a cup of coffee after he came home from his shifts.

"I wouldn't say it was my first choice for a career, but now I really enjoy it. I wouldn't say I got sick of it. I think it's different when you're staff compared to when you're a passenger. I don't go on vacation a lot because I have to stay here and take care of my mom, so I don't get a lot of opportunities to fly when I'm not working." Blaine explained. "I guess I don't really know the difference."

"I'd miss not going on vacation. Though I have to admit I don't really do that any more because the only time I fly anywhere is with work, too. Can you believe that Rome was my first vacation in nearly two years?"

"No way! I don't believe that." Blaine replied.

"It's true. And it was worth it, believe me." Kurt hinted.

"Oh, I believe you. It was worth it for me, too." Blaine said. Kurt allowed himself a smile.

"So, I...I guess I'll see you tomorrow." Kurt said.

"I'll see you tomorrow." repeated Blaine.

_Tomorrow_. Kurt couldn't wait. He felt like a kid at Christmas time again, only this was so much better than that. Because it wasn't an inanimate gift waiting for him, but a boyfriend. A boyfriend and a man that he was almost one hundred percent sure he was falling for.

* * *

Kurt awoke far too early to be considered healthy the following morning due to excitement buzzing throughout his body. _I definitely feel like a little kid at Christmas_, he thought to himself as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Rachel was probably still asleep – the girl slept like a log – but he was now wide awake.

He was never one to lounge around (unlike his stepbrother) doing nothing, so instead of lying there unproductively he decided that he might as well get up and do something. The clock on his nightstand said 5_:34am_. It wasn't even past six yet. _Might as well take a shower_.

Sliding out of bed, he crept across the carpet to his ensuite bathroom – one of the few perks that came with his apartment – and turned on the shower. He bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for the water to heat to the desired temperature inside the machine before pressing the power button. He stripped off his pyjamas and slipped under the hot stream of water within seconds – years of practice – and relished the way the spray jolted him out of sleep.

Then again, taking a bath also had its privileges, he reminded himself.

He was finished within minutes, jumping out from under the water and wrapping a towel around his waist whilst he searched for a change of clothes. He was leaving work early to be in time for his flight, but that didn't mean he couldn't look his best for the time he was actually spending there. After much deliberation and a quick look outside to check the state of the weather, which was fairly warm, he finally chose a pair of light tan pants and a simple pressed white shirt. The lighter fabric would stop him from getting too hot during the day whilst still looking sophisticated and businesslike.

The next order of business was breakfast, but he was wary of waking Rachel if he turned on the coffee maker. The damn thing was far too noisy, especially first thing in the morning, and he hated it but yet how could he live without his coffee? Anyone who had seen him running on anything less than caffeine would agree that it would not be a pretty sight.

In the end, he thought _to hell wit her, I let her sleep on my couch_ and went into the kitchen, meaning to check on Rachel first just to see if she was okay. She appeared to be fast asleep, face-down on the blankets with her dark hair spread across the pillow. There were smudges of lipstick and mascara on the edge of the blanket, which Kurt was going to have to wash when he came back. _Oh well_.

As he made breakfast, he checked and re-checked a mental list of everything he was going to need for the next three days to make sure that he'd remembered everything. There was nothing worse than forgetting something when you were going somewhere important; he knew that from experience. _Clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, underwear, travel documents, tickets, passport...I think that's everything. Isn't it? _He'd booked the same flight as Blaine immediately after their phone call on Wednesday – he knew already which one it was – so that they would be sure of travelling together. He was surprised that he'd managed to secure a last-minute ticket – and a good seat – so easily.

That was the beauty of working for one of the biggest fashion magazine companies in the world.

Deciding he might as well leave something for Rachel when she woke up, he made her the usual coffee and put it in a silver thermos he kept in the cupboard above the sink, so that it wouldn't get cold.

It was now 6:30am and he still had at least forty-five minutes before he had to leave for the _Vogue _offices if he wanted to be there for 8:45am. He was nothing if not punctual but he decided that he might as well take the time to savour the morning and the alone time. He was usually so busy in the mornings.

Taking his coffee and a bagel, he sat down in the armchair opposite the couch. It sank a little when he sat in it because the springs were broken but he didn't really mind. It was the only thing in the apartment, apart from the noisy coffee maker, that was less than perfect.

Rachel suddenly gave a loud snore and Kurt jumped, cursing under his breath as he narrowly avoided spilling coffee over his clean pants. _It's a good thing you're my best friend, or I probably would have kicked you out for that_, he thought in Rachel's direction, but she seemed unperturbed and slept on peacefully. _Ignorance is bliss_.

He must have sat there longer than he thought, because the alarm on his phone started beeping to let him know that it was time for him to leave or else he'd be late. He'd installed the alarm after his first week at the job, when he'd realised that plenty of time was needed to negotiate the traffic on the streets of New York city early in the morning. It had been a lifesaver (and job saver) ever since.

Dumping his empty mug in the sink, he put the thermos of coffee on the table next to Rachel and quickly went to the bathroom, grabbed his coat and keys and a small number of enormous files, and he was out of the apartment.

Getting to work wasn't as easy. Unfortunately, the streets were twice as busy as they usually were and traffic was moving slowly. And if there was one thing that Kurt hated, it was slow-moving traffic. He'd never had much patience as a driver and was prone to road rage. Pulling up in a long line of cars at a set of traffic lights, he sighed to himself, resting his chin in his hand. His files and papers were stacked in a pile on the passenger's seat next to him.

_How long does it take to get through a set of traffic lights?_ He thought, peering through the windscreen to see if he could spot anything up ahead. He felt restless, his good mood with which he'd woken up rapidly evaporating. _Can it just be five o'clock already? I shouldn't have bothered going into work today, but there's so much that needs to be done and it has to be done before I leave. _

The line moved up a tiny amount and the driver behind Kurt bumped into the back of his car. He gritted his teeth and glared at the offending driver via the rear view mirror, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel irritably. _This is not what I was expecting when I got up this morning._

Kurt waited in annoyance until the line of traffic started moving again, albeit at snail's pace, and tried to suppress his bad mood. He focused instead on London and Blaine and the next three days which would be blissfully work-free.

He held that thought at the front of his mind as he finally arrived at the _Vogue _offices, ten minutes late but in a slightly better mood.

The work day didn't really start until 8:30am anyway, he had half an hour if he wished to take some time before storming in with business to attend to and a magazine to work for. If he was honest, he took more than a little pleasure from scaring the new interns by pretending that he was the Devil incarnate when really, everyone at the office seemed to like him. It certainly spiced up slow, sluggish work days where there wasn't really anything major going on that he was needed for.

He greeted Victoria at her desk, to which she replied, "Someone's unusually chipper. Did you put vodka in your coffee this morning?"

He just _looked_ at her with a raised eyebrow and went into his office, depositing his coat and the armful of files he'd carried all the way from the parking lot.

Afterwards, everything was...well, really boring. He'd always said that he'd never found working at _Vogue_ to be unexciting, but today was just more banal than others for some reason. Maybe it was because he knew that come tonight, he would be heading to London, _England_ with his new boyfriend and anything else seemed unimportant by comparison.

But still, he grimaced and got on with what needed to be done. Kurt was nothing less than efficient and despite not being particularly enthusiastic, he worked non-stop through most of the morning and only stopped for lunch at 1pm. Even that was short-lived, because he was suddenly called in to review a collection of fabrics that the magazine was considering buying for a feature in the next issue. (Yes, they really were planning for the April issue already).

But as the minutes and the hours ticked by and it got closer and closer to Kurt's time to leave for the airport, he forgot about the daily grind of the office and allowed himself to relax at the prospect of a vacation - a vacation where he _wasn't _single and lonely for the first time. It felt good.

As an added bonus, nobody at work knew and so he could keep it a secret, his own personal talisman that he carried with him. If you'd told him a year before that he would be sitting at his desk waiting to leave on a flight with another man whom he liked and who liked him back, he would probably have laughed. It had been insane to imagine, something that he'd dreamed of, something that he'd _like_ to do, but would probably never happen.

Until, of course, he met Blaine.

_Finally, finally, finally_ it was 4pm and Kurt was allowed to leave. He practically ran out of the office and down to his car, something that would have made him wince internally from embarrassment if it had been any other situation. Throwing himself (and his files) into the driver's seat, he only hoped he wouldn't go over the speed limit as he headed home to pick up his suitcase and travel documents.

It was ridiculous, really, the way he was behaving. But he couldn't help it.

When he got to his apartment, he found Rachel still on the sofa in his borrowed clothes, wrapped in one of the blankets he'd given her. It didn't look like she'd moved from that spot since this morning. The empty thermos was sat next to her.

"Oh, Kurt, you're home." she called, rubbing her face. "How was work?"

"The usual." he said simply, putting his coat on the hook on the back of the door. "Have you moved from the couch today?"

"Only to use the bathroom." Rachel replied. "I didn't feel like doing anything."

_I know _that_ feeling,_ Kurt thought. _I know that feeling all too well_.

"D'you want some more coffee?" Kurt asked, gesturing to the empty thermos. He had a little time before he had to leave; it was roughly forty minutes to the airport. His flight wasn't until 7:25pm anyway and he was meeting Blaine around 5pm.

"That would be nice." Rachel nodded, and Kurt felt for her. He may never have been locked out in the rain by a boyfriend – or a fiancé, for that matter – but he could understand how she felt. He set about making her coffee and whilst it was brewing he went to fetch his suitcase and put it by the door, so that he was able to grab it on his way out.

He handed Rachel the steaming mug a few minutes later, and she took it gratefully.

"You can stay here as long as you want, okay?" Kurt said. "Well, at least, you can stay until I get back. But you're going to have to go back to Jesse sometime."

"I know, I know, it's just...I have too much pride." Rachel replied. "Going back there would mean admitting defeat."

"You don't always have to be so stubborn, you know." Kurt suggested. Rachel stared at him. "And I know, I'm not really in a position to say anything about being stubborn but maybe you need to be the bigger man, or in this case woman, for once."

"Thanks, Kurt." she said softly. He indulged in the sudden compulsion to reach out and stroke her hair away from her face, something that he used to do years ago when she was upset. Rachel smiled at the action, then looked up at him.

"Go on, you have a plane to catch." She jerked her head in the direction of the door. "I'll be fine." Kurt returned her smile.

"Okay, I gotta go – and remember, be the bigger woman, okay?" he said, grasping the handle of his suitcase and slinging his coat and the bag he intended to use as hand luggage over his arm.

"Go!" she demanded, almost laughing, and in the end Kurt gave in.

He got to his car in record time, even for him, and played with the radio as he drove the now-familiar route to New York JFK.

His cellphone beeped and hummed where it sat in the glove pocket and, careful of the road and the traffic, he released one hand from the wheel to check the message he'd just received.

_I'm nearly there :) See you soon! - Blaine_

He smiled to himself, feeling the anticipation build deep within his chest and in his stomach, a fluttering feeling akin to nervousness. It was as if his stomach and heart were butterflies, their wings beating out an excited tempo within him.

Who knew that a simple text message, a few words, could rouse such a reaction from him?

* * *

New York JFK airport seemed brighter, more open and spacious. He knew that it was only his mind playing tricks on him, of course – it was as plain and unexciting as always, the white of the walls dirty, the lights blinding – but that's the way it appeared to Kurt as he walked in the direction of the check-in desks lined against one wall of the cavernous departures hall.

For once, he didn't mind queueing.

Even when he found himself behind a large woman with two annoying children who kept fighting, slapping and kicking and, once, biting each other.

Even when the elderly man behind him sneezed loudly and sprayed the air with his infectious germs.

Even when another, different woman ran her suitcase into his heels, effectively catching the back of his shoes and nipping the sensitive skin there, which would surely leave a red mark afterwards.

His cellphone beeped and vibrated in his pocket.

_I'm right behind you. Don't scream. - Blaine_

Kurt whipped around almost immediately, nearly injuring his neck in the process, and drew in a huge breath because there was Blaine, just as his text message had said, standing behind him with his usual Hollywood-white smile, clutching a deep navy travel bag. In his other hand was a large black suitcase. He was still in his regulation blue flight attendant's uniform.

"Miss me?" he asked, a little cocky, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Hello to you, too." he replied.

"Hey, I was just teasing!" Blaine said, nudging Kurt's arm with his own. Kurt had the urge to link their arms together, just so that they were touching properly.

"Mm-hmm, sure."

"Kurt, you're up next." Blaine said, prodding him in the general direction of the check-in desk. He hurried forward, nearly tripping over his suitcase, and went through the standard rhythm of handing the person at the counter his passport and travel documents.

Once that was done, he stepped out of the line so that Blaine could go and check in. He watched as the muscles in Blaine's shoulders and arms flexed as he reached for his own travel documentation from the bag he was carrying and handed it over to the clerk at the desk. Within minutes, he was at Kurt's side.

"Ready? I just need to go change, I'll look suspicious wearing this when I'm not working." Blaine said, gesturing to his uniform.

"Ready." Kurt replied. "I'll wait for you."

"I won't be a minute."

Kurt sat on one of the metal seats nailed to the floor over by the toilets, watching people pass by as he waited for Blaine, who had gone into the men's bathroom. He swung his legs like a child on a swing and self-consciously fixed his shirt and smoothed out non-existent creases in his pants. He didn't know why he felt so anxious about his appearance; Blaine didn't seem to mind what he looked like.

_That's because every time he's seen me, I've always looked perfectly presentable. I can't let that slip now. I have a standard to uphold._

Soon enough, Blaine re-appeared, but in his own clothes this time. Kurt had to admire his..._quirky_ taste in fashion. Dark-wash jeans that were rolled up at the ankles and a red sweater which brought out the olive tones in his skin..._and is that a bowtie? _Kurt thought. Sure enough, it was; a pale red one. He usually didn't condone bowties on anyone not wearing a finely-cut suit or a toddler, but on Blaine, it worked.

"Nice accessory." Kurt complimented, referring to aforementioned bowtie. Blaine practically beamed.

"Oh, this? Yeah, it's one of my favourites. I know they're a little old-fashioned, but I'm rather partial to them." he said. "I've been collecting since I was in high school."

"Really?" Kurt asked, his inner fashion-obsessive (and _Vogue_ employee) taking over. "How many do you have?"

"About fifty, last time I checked. I can't always get them in mainstream stores so I usually buy them online or from vintage places." Blaine explained, feeling slightly proud.

Kurt stood up, gripping his bag securely. Their suitcases had already been sent on their way to the airplane and would be loaded on without them, as per usual. He smiled widely.

"Shall we? You can tell me more about these vintage stores you find your bowties in." Kurt said, reaching out his arm in the hope that Blaine would link it. He did, and Kurt resisted the urge to let out a little squeal.

"It would be a pleasure." Blaine replied.

They spent the next couple of hours before they were due to board just talking, enjoying each other's company and relishing the time that they had to spend together. Kurt knew immediately that three days would not be enough, that he would need more, but was unable to get it. Coffee in hand, they talked about everything from fashion faux pas to embarrassing teenage crushes, in which Kurt admitted to his less-than-platonic affection for his stepbrother and Blaine confessed to leaving a heartfelt note in the locker of a Senior he had admired, only to be found out later and publicly humiliated in front of the entire student body. They swapped stories of childhood pets, beloved movies and favourite things to do on a rainy day.

In short, it was perfect. And they hadn't even reached London yet.

"_Attention passengers, flight 4224 from New York JFK to London Gatwick is now boarding. Please make your way to boarding gate 5."_

It was time to board, and Blaine insisted on holding his hand. Kurt didn't protest, but blushed when the woman at the boarding gate gave them a knowing look when she spotted their entwined hands.

They walked that way all the way to the airplane, and only broke apart when they had to take their seats, since movement was restricted when you were attached to another person. After that, however, they were interlocked again, their hands resting together on the armrest between them. Nobody gave them a second glance, and Kurt was grateful. He didn't want small-minded homophobes ruining this vacation for him.

After a while, the rhythm of the plane became soothing and Kurt began to feel tired. It seemed that Blaine felt the same way, since he suddenly yawned loudly in the seat next to him. _What is it about planes that makes me want to sleep? _Kurt wondered to himself, stretching out his legs and flexing his stiff calves.

He felt Blaine's hand go limp in his own, and he knew that he'd fallen asleep himself. Kurt thought that it was good for him; up close, he could see the faint bags under his eyes and the tiredness of his skin, from working such strange, inconsistent hours. He supposed that the time zones in different parts of the world didn't help your sleep pattern either, and could only guess that Blaine often suffered from jet lag.

He turned to watch him as he slept, leaning against his shoulder in a heavy but not uncomfortable way. He would normally feel like a creep or a stalker, but he didn't think Blaine would mind. He looked impossibly young like this, younger than he really was; whatever it was that aged him had gone from his face. Kurt wondered if he looked the same when _he_ was sleeping.

_I want to kiss him_, he thought. _I want to kiss him right here, right now. But I can't, because he's sleep and everyone's watching. Well, they will be if they aren't already. _

Eventually, Kurt's eyelids began to droop as he got closer and closer towards sleep. _It'll be one in the morning when we reach England_, he reasoned with himself. _If I sleep now, I won't be so exhausted later_.

With this thought in mind, the warmth of Blaine's body pressing into his side, he succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

The first thing Kurt registered was that he was moving. The second thing he registered was the noise around him that erupted like a volcano, surrounding him on every side.

The third thing he registered was a smooth, warm hand guiding him forward.

"Where are we going?" Kurt mumbled, still half-asleep, and he heard Blaine chuckle behind him.

"We're getting off the plane, Kurt. You're not fully woken yet." he said. Kurt realised then that he wasn't carrying the bag he'd brought onto the plane with him.

"Where's my bag?" he asked, a little too loudly, and Blaine sushed him affectionately.

"Don't worry, I've got it right here. It's not going anywhere."

"Oh, okay."

His mind was foggy with sleep and he wasn't really sure in which direction he was being steered, but they suddenly reached cool air and a light breeze whipped at his face, which told him that they were outside. He took the opportunity to rub at his eyes with his free hand – the other was clutching Blaine's – to clear his vision a little.

"You know, you're cute when you're half-asleep." Blaine observed, watching Kurt as he struggled to bring himself to full wakefulness. _I must have _really_ been in a deep sleep_. _I'm not usually like this when I wake up. _

**_Maybe it's because of who you're with_, **the little voice in his mind piped up. **_Maybe you feel comfortable enough that you're acting this way_**.

He still bumped into several people once inside the Arrivals lounge, however, and had to apologise profusely whilst Blaine did little to hide his mirth.

"Sorry! Wasn't I just saying you were cute?" he said. Kurt glared at him, but he hardly meant it. He was just teasing; he didn't think he could ever be angry with Blaine. It was too hard. So it was more of a mock-glare than anything, but it seemed to have worked.

"Oh, c'mon, you're not mad at me, are you?" Blaine asked sweetly, taking Kurt's suitcase off the conveyor belt with a swing of his (very toned) arm. _He must be strong. I wonder if he works out_.

"No." Kurt grumbled, playing along for the hell of it. Blaine put an arm around his waist and Kurt momentarily crumbled, inhaling the scent of cashmere wool and medium drip (Blaine's coffee order, he had learned).

"Then you won't want to come and get a cab with me so we can go to our hotel, will you?" he said, his voice taking on a suggestive edge. Blaine had booked them a room at the best hotel he could afford and they had unspoken plans between them to make full use of it – and the city – whilst they were here.

Kurt pretended to give in, letting his shoulders slump.

"Oh, okay then. But only because I like you." he said, swiping his suitcase from Blaine's hand and striding in the direction of a taxi rank he could see outside the window, where half a dozen or so taxis were waiting for their prospective passengers.

He heard Blaine coming up behind him, practically jogging to keep up.

"Not so fast!" he complained, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder to stop him from going any further. "Your legs are so much longer than mine."

"It's not my fault you're a little on the, shall we say..._vertically challenged_ side." Kurt smirked. Blaine cocked an eyebrow.

"Vertically challenged?" he asked, his eyes bright. _Dammit, he's mocking me_, Kurt thought. _Better level out the playing field here, so to speak_.

"Yes. Vertically challenged." Kurt repeated.

"I can't help it if I'm short. My mom's from the Philipines." Blaine said.

"Maybe it's because you drink too much coffee. You know it stunts your growth?"

"I bet you drink just as much coffee as I do, and you're taller than me, so that defeats the object, doesn't it?"

"Are we getting a taxi or not?" Kurt asked.

"I think we have to. My legs are all numb from sitting down for so long." Blaine replied. "C'mon, before somebody else gets one."

They rushed outside – well, as much as they could dragging heavy suitcases behind them ("Thank God this thing's on wheels," Blaine muttered) – and stopped a taxi just as it pulled up right in front of them.

Kurt rapped on the window and the driver – a woman with a long brown plait and crow's feet – pushed open the door.

"Where to, folks?" the woman asked in a voice far too cheery for someone still working at 1am.

"The Mariott Hotel? On George street, near Regent's Park?" Blaine said. Kurt was impressed. _He's done his research_, he thought. _Why didn't I think of doing that? I feel like an idiot now_.

"I know it. Hop in, then." the woman said, and Kurt gratefully opened the door of the taxi. They both climbed in, a tangle of suitcases and legs and bodies, and fastened their seatbelts.

London by night was something else entirely. Kurt had only ever seen it in travel brochures and photographs, and it didn't compare at all to the way it was in real life. Tall skyscraper buildings gave way to grey council houses, which then gave way to enormous mansion-style homes that belonged to the city's richest of the rich. Every area was different from the last and no two streets appeared to be the same.

Even though it was past one in the morning, the streets were still busy. Cabs, mostly, like the one they were currently riding in, but also cars and buses and people on the sidewalks. But it felt different to New York. New York was noisy and crowded and polluted. London was noisy and crowded and yet felt..._clean_, Kurt supposed. It made you feel good rather than wanting to run to the nearest store to take cover from the cacophony of noise and the smell of vehicle exhaust.

Soon the green curving expanse of Regent's Park came into view, dimly light in the darkness by streetlamps and car headlights. Though you couldn't see much of it from this angle, it appeared to be enormous. Kurt knew from his own general knowledge that there was also a zoo in Regent's Park, so it must have been pretty big.

Suddenly the woman pulled over on the pavement in front of a large, snowy white building. The silver letters across the front read _The Mariott Hotel_. They were here.

"Here it is, then. That'll be fourteen pounds and sixty pence." she called through the plastic partition separating the passenger seats from the front of the taxi.

Well, this was something that they hadn't discussed beforehand – who would pay for their trip? _Why didn't we think to discuss this? _Kurt thought in a panic. _This is important!_

There was a little awkward silence as they seemed to silently debate the issue through eye contact. The woman clicked her tongue impatiently and Kurt had to stop himself from getting annoyed, choosing instead to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a handful of British bank notes, thrusting them in the woman's direction.

"Thank you. Keep the change!" he said, and before he knew it he was being pulled out of the taxi by the arm in a rather ungraceful but not unwelcome manner that made him laugh and stumble on his feet on the side walk, trying to regain his balance.

"Any reason why you decided to yank me out of the cab without warning?" Kurt asked, folding his arms and turning to stare at Blaine hard.

"I wanted to see the look on your face." he shrugged. "Shall we go in or do you not want to sleep in a comfortable bed tonight?"

"Good point."

The hotel was even nicer than the one Kurt had stayed in during his visit to Rome – it might even have been nicer than the one in Athens. Blaine had chosen well, and Kurt told him so as they climbed the stairs – no elevator – up to their room.

"I'm impressed." he commented.

"How come?"

"You've chosen well. The hotel, I mean." Kurt explained, looking around the narrow corridor, decorated in various shades of white with a thick cream carpet underfoot.

"It's a gift." Blaine said. "That and calming crying babies. It comes in useful with so many of my friends having young kids."

They had reached their room. Blaine stepped aside.

"You go first. I insist." he said. _A proper gentleman. Where was he raised, Louisiana? Still, I can't complain. I have to say it's...quite attractive._

Kurt did the honours of unlocking the door using an old-fashioned gold key – no electronics, just like there being no elevator – and as soon as he pushed open the heavy door, he was in heaven.

_Oh yes_, he thought, _this is definitely better than Rome or Athens. I could get used to this. _

The room was decorated in different tones of brown, cream and tan; the same carpet that lined the corridors lined the floor of the room, thick and fluffy and incredibly soft under his feet. The draped tan curtains had red sashes tired around them that matched a deep red bedspread and duvet. The sheets, pillows and walls were pure white and the only furniture in the room, a small leather armchair and glass-topped table, were a dark, chocolate brown.

Kurt must have let out a breath of awe because Blaine chuckled from somewhere behind him.

"I did good?" he asked, coming up to rest his chin on Kurt's shoulder, so that their cheeks were almost touching.

"You did perfect." Kurt replied, bobbing sideways to press a chaste kiss to his temple. Blaine grinned against his shoulder, his long eyelashes brushing the fabric of Kurt's shirt. "Let's get into bed."

"I think that's a good idea, or I'll fall asleep right where I am and that won't bode well. I'll probably crush you."

Kurt took Blaine's hand and, with careful movements, began to undress him in the half-light from the single lamp on the nightstand.

"Don't we have to get dressed?" Blaine said. "Pyjamas, I mean."

"Screw pyjamas. I'm too tired and quite frankly, I just want to get into bed with you." Kurt replied, and oh, _that totally sounded a lot less dirty in my head. Shit. I hope he doesn't think I want..._that. _I''m not ready. Not yet_.

It seemed like Blaine understood, however, because he simply sat back on the bed and allowed Kurt to take off his clothes; first his sweater, then his undershirt - "Are you seriously wearing an undershirt, Blaine? It's March." - and finally his pants. And then he was down to his underwear and Kurt had to take a moment to gather himself because he looked exactly the same way as Kurt remembered him, all lean muscle and tan skin. You would never suspect it, given his short stature and slender frame.

"Kurt, you're staring at me." Blaine said suddenly, jolting Kurt out of his..._ogling_, he supposed, was the right word for it.

"Sorry. You're just...you're really something." Kurt said. He swallowed hard. "In a good way."

"I would hope so." came Blaine's quiet reply. "You're wearing too many clothes." he pointed out.

Kurt looked at the floor, a pink flush creeping across his normally pale face.

"You can't be nervous?" Blaine asked softly. "I've seen you naked once, remember? And we're keeping our underwear on."

"I feel inadequate." Kurt confessed.

"Just take your clothes off and lay with me." Blaine said. "I'll be nice, I promise." he added with a wink that made Kurt flush even darker. _Why am I acting like a teenager? Like Blaine said, we've done this before. Why am I nervous now?_

Kurt fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and pants, nearly ripping them off in the process of removing them. _I look and feel like an idiot right now._ In the end, Blaine helped him, pulling off the tan slacks with expertise and laying them across the leather armchair, where his own clothes were. Just seeing their clothes together that way made Kurt feel..._special_. It made the moment feel more real.

Once they were naked, except for their underwear, they both felt too exhausted to say or do anything else. The bags under Blaine's eyes were painfully visible in the lamplight and Kurt knew that he deserved a proper night's sleep in a proper bed, rather than in an uncomfortable plane seat.

"After you." Blaine insisted, pulling back the deep red duvet. Kurt slid in gratefully, the sheets cool against his flushed skin. The dip of the mattress told him that Blaine had slipped in beside him, his warmth filling the space between them.

They seemed to automatically gravitate towards each other, their bare legs touching, shoulders side by side. It was peaceful, hearing another person's breathing, the rhythm of the inhales and exhales, the rise and fall of their chest. _This is what I should feel like all the time_, Kurt thought. _This right here is what I want. _

_This is what I've been missing._

* * *

The following day, Kurt awoke to the sunlight streaming in through the window and the space next to him empty, an indentation in the pillow where Blaine's head had been. He stretched out his arms and legs, taking up all of the available space, arching his neck and sighing pleasantly.

"You really _are_ like a kitten."

Kurt jumped slightly on the bed as he heard Blaine's voice drift out to him from where he was standing at the foot of the bed, clad only in a towel. His hair was damp from the shower and starting to curl outwards in all directions, giving him the look of an oversized, wide-eyed dog. _Okay, I did not just compare him to a domesticated animal_. Kurt's gaze followed a rogue droplet of water as it traced a wet path down Blaine's stomach, disappearing into the fabric of the towel at his waist. He didn't even realise he'd licked his lips until he noticed that they were wet.

"Is that a bad thing?"Kurt asked, sitting up and adjusting the duvet so that it covered most of his chest, far too pale in the morning light.

"No, definitely not." Blaine said. "It's a very good thing." Kurt flushed under Blaine's intense gaze, his skin turning a dusky pink. Unfortunately for him – or maybe fortunately – it drew Blaine's attention to his hardened nipples, the definition in his pectoral muscles, and he couldn't look away. Kurt covered up more of himself self-consciously, the domestic, intimate setting making him nervous.

"So what are we doing today?" Blaine asked then, sitting down on the end of the bed and making the mattress springs creak under his weight. Droplets of water dripped onto the duvet, staining the red a dark shade of crimson for a second before vanishing.

"I say we talk a walk." Kurt propositioned. "Regent's Park is right around the corner. Would you care to join me?"

"I wouldn't dream of saying no." Blaine said. He stood up, readjusting the towel, which had slipped to reveal an expanse of smooth, tan skin lightly dusted with sparse dark hair. "I need to go change."

_Oh, but I rather like what you're wearing right now_, Kurt thought candidly, though he would never dream of saying it out loud.

Blaine padded into the bathroom and Kurt decided that he better get out of bed. He'd never woken this late before, not even on a lazy Sunday morning when there wasn't really anything important that needed doing. The clock on the nightstand read 10:40am.

Making sure that Blaine wasn't going to come out of the bathroom any time soon, he quickly dressed in the shirt from yesterday and a fresh pair of pants, rolling the sleeves up to the elbows as it was fairly warm outside. He pulled on socks and set about doing _something_ with his hair, which had got out of control during the night and now resembled overgrown grass gone wild. After locating his can of hairspray he went about taming it, peering closely into the mirror on the opposite side of the wall.

By the time he'd finished, Blaine had come out of the bathroom and was sitting on the bed, watching him with a half-smile on his face.

"Well." Kurt said, putting the can of hairspray on the table. "I suppose this is as good as it's going to get this morning."

"Oh, stop it, you look fine." Blaine insisted. "We may have missed the breakfast slot but we can always get something out."

"Breakfast out sounds good."

* * *

"_This_ is your idea of breakfast?" Kurt asked in disbelief as they sat on one of the many benches in Regent's Park a half hour later, eating ice cream and drinking coffee in matching takeaway styrofoam cups. Kurt naturally had a nonfat mocha; Blaine had his usual medium drip.

"Breakfast food doesn't necessarily have to be _eaten_ for breakfast." Blaine pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. "And anyway, it's a nice day."

"I can't say I expected it, but I like it." Kurt said. "It's...different."

"Good different or bad different?" Blaine asked. Kurt scooted a few inches up the bench so that he was pressed closer to Blaine's side.

"Definitely good different." he nodded. A light breeze had picked up and was blowing through his less-than-neat hair, but at his point he no longer cared. _I really must like him if I don't care that my hair looks like a bird's nest_, Kurt thought.

"That's good, then." Blaine said. A comfortable silence fell between them, but Kurt still felt a little awkward regardless. He'd never done this before. It was all new and he kept questioning himself, wanting reassurance that he was doing and saying the right things. _**The first time you were ever intimate with him, you took a **_**bath**_** together**_**. **_**Surely that means something?**_A voice in his head told him. _It may mean something, but I don't know what that _is_, _Kurt thought in reply. _Great, now I'm talking to myself._

"D'you fancy going to the zoo?" was the slightly random question Blaine asked a few moments later, causing Kurt to snort into his coffee and almost spill it over his clean-on pants.

"What's so funny about the zoo?" Blaine asked, unable to hide his amusement at Kurt's display. "I haven't been to one since I was a kid."

"It just took me by surprise, that's all. A man in his twenties who wants to go to the zoo, that's the first time I've heard _that_." Kurt replied, feeling bad that he'd laughed.

"I happen to like the zoo." Blaine said, miffed. But Kurt hoped that was only teasing. Just to make sure, he nudged his side playfully.

"Alright, we can go to the zoo." Kurt agreed. "If you really want to. Because whatever you want to do, I want to do, too."

"_Awesome_!" Blaine exclaimed, startling a group of pigeons nearby who scattered into the air in all directions. He cleared this throat self-consciously. "I mean, that would be great."

Kurt shook his head. "You're incredible, Blaine. You're always surprising me."

"That's good, right?" Blaine asked nervously, searching Kurt's face for confirmation that he wasn't a complete idiot and/or overgrown child with a tendency to get carried away.

"_Yes_, it's good!" Kurt said, linking Blaine's arm with his own. He had long since finished his ice-cream and had tried to aim the tub at a trash can not far away, but failed and couldn't find the energy to walk over and pick it up. _Oh, well. I'm too comfortable right now_. _Screw the environment. _His coffee, however, was still warm and there was a little left in the bottom of the cup. Blaine leaned into him and smiled against the soft skin of Kurt's temple. He could feel his warm breath against his cheek, the bitter scent of coffee.

He never wanted to leave.

The thought startled and shocked him all at once. It wasn't something that he was accustomed to. Working 24/7, dealing with whatever crisis Rachel was having and making sure he found time to visit his parents and stepbrother at least twice a year excluding Christmas was difficult. He was always busy, moving from place to place; the office to the coffee shop, back to the office, the bakery round the corner, his apartment, Rachel's apartment, his parents' house in Ohio...he never stopped. The idea of wanting to stay in one place was alien to him. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from thinking it.

"We better get going." Blaine murmured. "Y'know, before it closes..."

"Yeah." Kurt breathed, nodding slightly more enthusiastically than he intended to and probably ending up like one of those insufferable nodding dog toys that people insisted on putting in their cars. Rachel herself had a bobble-head cat doll on the dashboard of her car and it was extremely annoying. He often longed to crush the silly little thing in his fist, but had yet to actually do it just to spare Rachel's feelings.

He obediently followed Blaine as he hailed a taxi from the swarm of black Hackney cabs snaking the roads like bees in a hive, gestured for Kurt to climb in. He directed him to London Zoo with a cheerful smile and all the excitability of a small puppy. _There I go with the domesticated animal comparisons again, _Kurt thought. _I should stop_.

Only to discover that the attraction was closed.

"Sorry, I didn't know. Refurbishments, I expect." the driver of the cab apologised. "Bloody council never tell us anything."

He did, however, still expect the full fare for the journey despite their destination being unreachable, and an insistent Blaine handed over the amount with a slightly deflated demeanour. Kurt felt bad; he'd been looking forward to it, something that he hadn't expected.

They got out of the taxi and then realised that they had no idea where they were. Well, Kurt knew that they were near London Zoo, but exactly _where_ that was he didn't know. There was a bus stop across the street, but upon examining it, it didn't really give them any answers.

Kurt sat on the cold yellow seat dejectedly, feeling annoyed and frustrated with himself. The sun from the morning had gone in all of a sudden, and dark grey cloud cover had rolled across the sky, an ominous blanket. _Of course it would rain now_, Kurt thought, _and ruin our plans even more than they already have been_.

"I'm sorry." he said after a moment.

Blaine turned to him, confused. "What for?"

"Ruining our plans. I should have done some research before we came. I feel like an idiot." Kurt replied, his shoulders slumped where he sat, his back bowed in what felt like shame.

"Hey, c'mon, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known."

"But you were so excited! And I was too, because you were, and-" Kurt began, but was swiftly cut off by Blaine's finger pressed against his lips, effectively silencing him.

"It's okay." Blaine said. "We don't need to go to some fancy attraction to have a good time. I just want to spend time with you."

Kurt smiled despite his blackened mood. "I think I can make that happen."

"Are you hungry?" Blaine asked then.

"We just ate." he pointed out.

"Not properly. There's got to be a restaurant around here somewhere. We'll go someplace nice." Blaine said. Kurt had a sudden thought, a smile creeping across his face.

"Why don't we just...go back to the hotel? We can get room service..." he let his sentence trail off there, hoping that Blaine would catch the double meaning of his words. _After all, we paid for that bed. We should use it appropriately. Well semi-appropriately._

Blaine involuntarily licked his lips in an action that made Kurt's nerve-endings quiver. _It's not even noon yet!_ He told his rampant mind. _Calm down!_ He wasn't sure if he was actually talking to his own mind or to himself. Either way, he needed to distract himself whilst still keeping up the pretence in the hope that Blaine would catch on.

He didn't.

He sort of _looked_ at Kurt in this intense, half-amused way through his stupidly long eyelashes – Kurt would forever marvel over those eyelashes – his lips not quite a smile, but not quite a smirk either. It did funny things to Kurt's insides and made his legs feel like jello and lead simultaneously.

Okay, so maybe he _did _catch on to Kurt's intentions.

They both spoke at the same time.

"We should-"

"Let's-"

Kurt wrung his hands, suddenly feeling awkward. Blaine covered them with his own, and Kurt was then very aware that Blaine's hands were resting in his lap. No, correction – Blaine hands were resting on his _crotch_ and God, did it feel good.

Reminding himself firmly that they were sitting in a public bus stop in plain view of the street, he stood up and brushed down his pants, his skin stinging with the heat of Blaine's palms. He felt a little cold; there was a chill in the air.

"Cold?"

"A little." Kurt said. _If that isn't an invitation for you to come stand close to me, I don't know what is._

"Then we'll go back to the hotel and order room service...put on the TV and not watch it..." The suggestion was thick in the air; Kurt could tell that Blaine was nervous, his cheeks dark pink and flushed.

"You _are_ bold today." Kurt commented, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't mock me."

"I wasn't! It was merely an observation." Kurt replied.

"Sure."

"I mean it! Are you coming or what? We might as well find a cab to take us back to the hotel. Again. But I'm paying this time."

"No, you're not. I keep telling you, this is _my_ gift to you." Blaine said.

"That doesn't seem fair." Kurt said.

"I _want_ to do this for you." Blaine replied. "Just let me?" The way he was looking at Kurt, it was impossible to resist his offer. _The things he does to me...they're unlike anything else I've ever experienced. They're unlike anything else I probably ever _will_ experience._

"Okay." Kurt breathed. His warm breath formed a cloud in the rapidly cooling air and he watched Blaine watching him, each trying to gauge the other's thoughts and reactions.

And then it felt awkward again.

"We should probably flag down that cab..." Kurt said. Blaine smiled, his huge, white smile that made Kurt tingle right down to his toes.

"We should." was his reply.

* * *

Blaine certainly made good on his offer.

They lay sprawled across the vast bed, already in their pyjamas despite it only being one o'clock – Kurt had taken some convincing but in the end he'd given in, changing out of his clothes and relishing in the comfort that only being in pyjamas could provide. The TV was turned to a re-run of _The Real Housewives of Orange County_ and surrounding them were takeaway boxes of Chinese food. Who knew a hotel could deliver _Chinese food_ right to the door of your room? And they didn't stop at Chinese cuisine either; they also offered room service of Indian, Thai, Indonesian, Lebanese, Italian, and Mexican food as well as their regular restaurant menu and all-day breakfast.

Kurt could have eaten until the waist of his pyjama pants became tight and he felt as if he might burst, it was all _that_ deliciousbut he didn't because he didn't want to appear greedy or slobbish in front of Blaine. There was nothing more unbecoming than appearing greedy in front of someone you liked. _Especially_ someone that you liked a _lot_ and might possibly even be falling for.

He half-heartedly threw the boxes into the trash when they were finished, too full and content to bother to get up and actually place them in the waste basket provided in the room.

"Getting lazy?" Blaine observed from his spot on the bed.

"I don't see you getting up any time soon." Kurt retorted.

Blaine raised one of his thick eyebrows. "Touché."

"You know, _touché_ comes from the French meaning 'to touch.'" Kurt said. "And I've just realised you probably didn't need to know that."

"No, no, it's fine. It's interesting." Blaine replied. "I never took French at school, they didn't offer it. Not in private school, anyway. It was either Latin or German, and in my old public school I had to take Spanish."

Kurt pulled a face. "I did, too, until I managed to convince the school secretary to let me take French instead. I hated Spanish. French was much more my kind of thing."

"And the reasons behind your choice of career in fashion become clearer." Blaine said.

"Yet your career choice of flight attendant still remains shrouded in mystery." Kurt replied.

"I'll tell you one day, I promise."

"You better keep that promise."

"I intend to."

A moment passed. Kurt was very aware of the close proximity of Blaine's body, the heat of it seeping through the thin cotton pyjamas he was wearing, through the duvet and mattress. Any closer, and their bare toes would be touching. Kurt wondered absently if Blaine's feet would be warm, or cold like his own (he'd tried all manner of things to boost circulation but nothing seemed to work).

He spoke before he realised what he was saying. "Come here."

His voice was barely above a whisper, tentative, but before he realised it Blaine was half-sitting, half-lying in his lap, their legs tangled together like jungle vines and their chests pressed together. Kurt knew that it was the middle of the day; that it was broad daylight, the thin light from the weak sun coming in through the open window. And yet, being here, it felt like it was the darkest hour of the night and it was just them, the two of them, with nobody else around. And yes, he knew that they were in a hotel and the hustle and bustle of the city below their window was a constant hum and buzz, but that didn't matter to Kurt.

He could feel Blaine's soft breath on his neck, the tip of his nose nuzzling the skin between his throat and collarbone. _This is one of those times when having a partner who's shorter than you comes in useful_, Kurt thought. _Did I just use the word 'partner'? What am I, forty? But I don't know how else to describe it. _

Almost on autopilot, he felt himself turn his head, searching out Blaine's lips with his own. He ducked his head so that he and Blaine were at eye level, his palm coming up to cup his jaw with light fingertips as he pressed his lips to Blaine's.

Not bothering to keep his mouth closed, the kiss was hot and wet and everything Kurt had hoped it would be, had expected it to be, their lips moulding around each other as if their lives depended on it. Soft and warm, smooth yet rough, the hand on Blaine's jaw tightened its grip and Blaine responded by kissing harder, allowing the tip of his tongue to trace the inside of Kurt's mouth, flicking across his bottom lip and up across the roof of his mouth, ticklish but gentle and making the tiny hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stand on end. Kurt shifted position so that their hips and legs were better aligned, and gasped into Blaine's mouth when he felt his arousal pressed hard against his own, the thin material doing nothing to mask the heat and the sensitivity when Kurt slid forward of his own volition, so that he was almost on top of Blaine on the bed.

They continued to kiss, barely coming up for air, sharing each other's breath and feeling each other pant and groan low in their chests, a rumbling sound that passed between them and intensified each moment. _I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I can't believe I'm actually doing this _right now_. _He jumped when he felt Blaine's hands tracing down the sides of his back and across to that sensitive spot right at the base of his spine, placing his palm wide over the skin as if wanting to hold Kurt in place. His fingers were dangerously close to the waistband of Kurt's pyjama pants and the anticipation was as thrilling as his kisses.

They remained like this for several minutes, Kurt breaking away to place a path of fluttering kisses up Blaine's throat and jaw, ending just behind his ear before continuing back down to his lips. The action made Blaine shudder beneath him, his whole body shifting and pushing their hips closer together, so that their heated, hard lengths slid against each other in a way that made Kurt gasp again, his face and neck flushing rosy pink in the daylight from the window.

Blaine seemed to think of something, and sat up a little. Kurt looked at him questioningly. _Oh God, please don't suggest we call this off_. _It was going so well and I want to keep doing it. _

Blaine's throat went dry as he fought to form the right words. "I think we should...d'you mind if I..." He swallowed hard, the movement making his Adam's apple bob up and down in a way that _really_ shouldn't have appeared erotic. "We should put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door."

Kurt almost laughed because, _oh my God, that's just typical Blaine. He's so...considerate, even when we're probably about to have sex._

_Holy crap, I'm about to have sex. _

"Good idea." Kurt said, nodding more than he probably should have. He was nervous, okay? He crawled back on the bed, sitting on his haunches and watching as Blaine crossed the room to hang said sign on the door so that anyone passing by would know they didn't want to be interrupted. It suddenly all felt very _real_; he wondered if he should speed things up by removing his pyjamas then and there, but was saved from the decision by Blaine, who looped his arms around Kurt's waist, resting their foreheads together. Kurt's arms were now trapped between them, his hands against the smooth, flat planes of Blaine's stomach.

Within seconds his mouth was back on Kurt's, soft and giving, the temperature between them sky high as the heat of their hyper-aroused bodies mingled in the air. He could see, could feel Blaine's hardness between his thighs, which matched his own and gave him no reason to be embarrassed. Letting his eyes drift closed, he allowed his hands to wander across the shape of Blaine's body through his clothes, feeling the muscles twist and expand and retract underneath the skin. He dug his hands under the collar of his pyjama shirt to feel his shoulder blades, traced an extended index finger around his navel, making him twitch and arch away from the ticklish touch.

And then, as soon as he'd started on his exploration, Blaine tugged at the hem of Kurt's shirt so that his arms were held above his head, his shirt half-off, and he could see Blaine's wicked grin over the top of the material. Suddenly the shirt was off and falling to the floor in a soft thud and Blaine bowed his head to kiss the pale skin of Kurt's chest and stomach, his lips like feathers across his sensitive skin and shooting sparks of delight right down to his groin, which became fuller and harder with every passing second. _This really is going to happen. I'm going to sleep with a flight attendant I only formally acknowledged my feelings for a month ago. This isn't _me. _But it feels so good that I don't even care_.

He let himself be laid down on the bed, his legs coming up instinctively to wrap themselves around Blaine's waist. The weight of his feet pushed down Blaine's pyjama pants, and they came into contact with his ass. It was a shock to Kurt and he froze for a second, just long enough for Blaine to ask him if something was wrong.

"We don't have to do this right now, you know." he said, his voice low and full of sincerity.

"I want to." Kurt said quickly. "My foot collided with your ass and it surprised me." _Why did I say that?_

"So that's what that was!" Blaine said, laughing. "It surprised me, too. You have cold feet."

"Sorry." Kurt swallowed. "I didn't say you had to stop."

"Okay, then. I won't."

And Blaine's lips returned to his own, Kurt curling a hand around the back of his neck and playing with the curls that had come free there. Kurt experimentally dragged his foot up the back of Blaine's leg, stopping only when he reached the underside of his thigh. Blaine groaned in protest, pulling Kurt's own legs around his waist tighter, effectively dragging their erections together. Kurt let out a cry of what could only be described as overwhelming pleasure as the sensitive tip came into contact with Blaine's own, feeling the sticky, damp patch where pre-come had leaked through his pyjama pants. He ought to be cringing like a teenager, but he wasn't.

Kurt decided that Blaine was wearing too many clothes, and pulled at his shirt until he complied and took it off, allowing it to land wherever he threw it over his shoulder. It was only pyjamas; he'd get to it later. Now bare from the waist up, the hypersensitivity was dizzying; coupled with the insistent pressure on his erection from the drag and push of Blaine's hips as he moved, he felt himself losing all control of his body. He needed to remove the last remaining restrictions – his pyjama pants – before he went completely crazy.

"Pants off." he gasped, too inarticulate to say anything else. He didn't care about being eloquent right now. "Please." he added as an afterthought.

"Your wish is my command." Blaine murmured against his sweat-damp skin, and in one smooth motion his pyjama pants disappeared, leaving him utterly naked. Kurt resisted the urge to cover himself with his hands and let them fall at his sides as Blaine removed his own pants and then they were both naked, bare to the world. The air tingled coolly on his hot skin.

The magnitude of the situation was not lost on Kurt.

"D'you have any...?" Kurt started, the words lost on his lips.

"No." Blaine admitted. "But I can improvise. I won't hurt you. I-I don't think I could, even if I wanted to. And I don't want to."

"That's good." Kurt said. Blaine smiled at him and Kurt knew that he could trust him. He hadn't trusted anyone..._physically_ for a long time. He'd never really found the right person to trust.

He didn't have much time to think beyond that, however, as Blaine had ducked between his legs and his lips were suddenly brushing across the insides of Kurt's thighs, barely touching the surface but enough to make Kurt squirm and pant and wriggle on the bed. _I feel like a newborn baby_, he thought.

_But newborn babies don't usually have someone's tongue on their ass_.

Kurt almost yelped as he felt Blaine's warm, wet tongue pass over the sensitive skin of his crack, the tip just tracing the edge of his hole. Blaine pressed his tongue flat over it, working Kurt to a feverish high that left him gasping and fisting the sheets in his hands. He'd never felt anything like it before and he wanted _more_.

Blaine continued to work at his ass and hole, taking care to make sure that Kurt was properly open and ready for him. He knew that it was a poor substitute for lubricant but he did his best, pushing the warm muscle inside and wetting as best he could, moving his tongue in circles to stretch Kurt out as much as possible. The latter panted and groaned above him, unable to remain in control of his mind or his body.

Kurt's breath came hard and fast as Blaine moved from his ass, pressing kisses into his stomach as he went, moving to lie in between Kurt's spread legs. He looked at Kurt, eyes bright and wide and shining in the light coming from the window, an unspoken question; _Are you sure?_

Kurt nodded in silent response, and then found the ability to speak. "I've never been so sure of anything in, well...a long time, and it scares me, but I know I am. Sure."

"I'm sure, too."

With careful movements, he aligned himself with Kurt's long body – a difficult feat since he was three inches shorter and therefore had shorter limbs – and pressed his face into Kurt's shoulder, inhaling his scent. Sensing that Blaine was nervous and even a little reluctant, Kurt reached between them to take the heavy, hard weight of him into his hand, guiding him gently to the right place. The blunt tip pressed against his hole, a pleasantly uncomfortable burning sensation spreading through his groin and thighs. He didn't mind; the adrenaline was enough to ward off the pain.

Kissing his neck and shoulder softly, Blaine inched himself inside, drawing in breath sharply at the tight, warm muscles that immediately engulfed him. Kurt, gasping for breath, placed his palms on Blaine's lower back, feeling the knobs of his spine and the dampness from the sweat that had collected on his body. This was it. There was no turning back now.

"Move." The order was short, panted. Kurt had no time for Shakespearean sonnets right now. Blaine obliged, and slowly, slowly began to rock his hips, allowing himself to slide out only a few inches before pushing back in. The sensation of being filled, of having another man inside him, was overwhelming; Kurt had forgotten what it felt like.

His eyes closed, he lost himself to the feeling, bringing his head down to kiss Blaine's forehead and temple as they rocked together, Kurt gripping him tight. It was careful and almost tortuous but Kurt wouldn't have it any other way. The slow pull of Blaine as he moved in and out of his stretched, eager hole was intoxicating; and when the tip collided with his prostate on a harder thrust, Kurt had to bite his lip to stop from crying out loud at the waves of pleasure that coursed through his entire body. The roughness of the duvet and sheets beneath him only intensified the pleasure.

He could feel and hear Blaine groaning against his skin. It felt incredible, _he_ felt incredible. Everything was incredible and _oh God, please don't let me cry here, right now, in front of Blaine whilst we're having _sex.

Too late.

Kurt felt the backs of his eyes prick painfully as he knew he was approaching orgasm, his body quaking with the effort of holding it off but no avail. He gripped Blaine tighter, leaving crescent-moon shaped nail marks in the skin of his back (which he would make sure to apologise for later). He could feel Blaine speeding up his movements, itching for that release that Kurt was sure he could feel coming, too.

And then he was _coming_ in a hot rush, letting himself cry out and gasp as his whole body shook, his fingers knotting themselves in Blaine's curly hair as he held on as if his life depended on it. A shudder and a small grunt muffled by his shoulder and Blaine was coming too, going boneless and limp as he came down from his inexorable high.

They lay there, breathing deeply, for several moments before the enormity of what had just happened fell over them like a blanket. A blanket that was warm, soft, and extremely comfortable. Kurt felt his face burn as the tears he'd been trying to hold back slipped down his face, and when he sniffed audibly, Blaine inclined his head to look at him.

"Why are you crying?" he asked. "Did I do something wrong? Please, please tell me I didn't hurt you..." His hands fluttered over Kurt's chest, as if searching for any sign of pain or discomfort.

"No, no, it's not that." Kurt wiped away the tears fiercely, cursing himself for getting so emotional over _sex_. This wasn't supposed to _happen_.

"Then tell me what it is." Blaine said softly, cupping Kurt's chin in his hand.

"I think I love you." he whispered, his lower lip trembling once more.

He watched as Blaine's eyes – those beautiful, hazel eyes – went wide as dinner plates, his mouth dropping open slightly, red and wet from kissing.

"I don't believe that." he croaked. "Not for one minute."

"Why not?" Kurt asked.

"Because-because...because I..." Blaine stuttered, and the sheer look of _pain_ on his face both disturbed and worried Kurt. He placed a hand on Blaine's cheek, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"I do." Kurt said. "I do think I love you. And whether you choose to believe me or not is your business, but being here, with you...it's everything I thought I'd never experience."

"Kurt-" Blaine began, but Kurt put a finger over his lips.

"Don't say anything. I just want to stay here with you." he said. Blaine swallowed.

"Okay." He smiled, a half-smile that made him look sleepy in the afternoon light. Kurt wondered how he'd got so lucky.

_I love you, I love you. Why are you so afraid of that?_

* * *

_**A/N: That's right, kids...another cliffhanger! Is Blaine Mr Commitment-Phobic? What will happen after Kurt's confession? **__**I can't tell you the answers to those questions now, you'll have to wait till the next chapter!**_

_**As always, let me know what you think by leaving a review!**_


	9. April: Rio de Janeiro

**_A/N: So...I'm not as happy with this chapter as I was with the others, especially the last one (which is currently my favourite), but I hope you enjoy it all the same._  
**

**_I only have one word to say about it and that is; "Sorry."_**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

**April: Rio de Janeiro**

It was happening again.

No phone calls, no messages, no texts. Absolutely nothing, except the short but sweet _Did you land safely? _once he was back at JFK airport.

And it crushed Kurt to know that he _knew_ the reason why. He knew it deep within himself, in the very fibres of his body.

It was because he'd been stupid and reckless, and had emotionally confessed to thinking he loved Blaine minutes after they'd had sex.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot_.

Why had he done it? Why had he let his emotions get the better of him in the heat of the moment? Now, he'd been left with nothing. He'd scared him off and ruined his chances; he _knew_ that he had. Why else would Blaine ignore him so absolutely?

Putting his head in his hands where he was sitting slumped over on his couch, a horrible realisation dawned on him. _Maybe he only ever wanted me for sex_, he thought. _And when I told him I thought I loved him, he panicked. Panicked because I'd been naïve enough to fall for the first good-looking flight attendant I see_.

Kurt was at a loss and had no idea what to do. He couldn't confide in Rachel about his failure; he certainly couldn't tell his father, or Finn. Perhaps Carole would understand, but he couldn't risk her repeating his woes to his dad.

It was ironic that the person he felt he _would_ have confided in...was Blaine. It felt like a cruel trick played on his heart by the universe, a _"Ha ha, you're a dumbass!_" kind of joke, the one where the person was being pointed at by the fingers of a thousand laughing spectators as they sat and observed his humiliation.

Rubbing his face exasperatedly, he replayed those three days in London over and over in his head, looking for any sign he might not have spotted at the time that signified that this was all one big joke.

He found none, except the joke played on him when he'd said, "I think I love you".

He'd gone over and over his decision to blurt it out, searching for an answer that didn't involve him realising that he had been completely out of his own control. Or rather, he _had_ been in control but simply hadn't exercised it at the right time.

Flopping backwards onto the couch, he let out a puff of air, frowning to himself and for once not caring about the development of premature frown lines. He'd have to intensify his nightly skincare ritual because of this. _What am I going to do? _He thought to himself. _This is a disaster. I feel like I've been betrayed, like I've been lead to believe one thing only for reality to turn out to be another_.

Had Blaine even wanted to be with him at _all_?

Kurt replayed every single moment they'd spent together in his mind. Their first meeting, their first kiss, the bath that they'd spent together in Rome, the nights they'd spent together in London...had it all been a ruse? Smoke and mirrors, to take advantage of him and leave him hanging like this?

It wasn't fair. None of this was _fair_.

He miserably thumped one of the cushions, watching as it bounced off the back of the couch and onto the floor. On any other day he would have picked it right up and put it back in its proper place, but not today. He even ignored the stack of order forms for various suit jackets in all colours of the rainbow for – ironically – _Vogue_'s Pride issue. That particular task could wait.

In fact, he pretty much felt like staying on this couch for the rest of the foreseeable future.

But he knew that it would be impossible to do that, however tempting it may have seemed; he had work to go to, places to visit, people to meet with. He had to remember to buy groceries and feed the neighbour's cat, since she was on vacation in the Bahamas. He had to do a whole number of different things and do them all exceptionally, because that was what his work colleagues, friends and family expected of him.

So why did he feel so depressed at this one teensy, tiny little thing?

_It's because it isn't just a teensy, tiny little thing. This is a _huge_ deal and I have no idea what I'm going to do about it. What kind of guy just abandons someone after sex? What kind of guy just abandons someone, period? Have I been that stupid all along to think that this actually meant something?_

It was at times like these that Kurt wished he had a pet to confide it, a cat or a dog or even a goldfish, just for someone – or was it some_thing?_ - to talk to. Somehow his favourite pillow wasn't the same, no matter the amount of nights he'd spent crying into it over the years for various reasons.

Looking for a distraction, he turned on the TV and began flipping through the channels, hoping that a re-run of _Desperate Housewives_ or a show about animals doing stupidly entertaining things might pull him out of his despair. Sadly, there was no such distraction to be found. The far too energetic presenter on _Animals Do the Funniest Things_ had teeth as white as milk and his curly hair reminded him of Blaine.

It was no use. He'd never be able to get this out of his mind. He'd never be able to get _Blaine_ out of his mind. The way he'd felt, the way his lips had brushed his skin and the smell of sweat that had filled the room afterwards, when they were just holding each other, basking in what was generally referred to as the 'afterglow' – but it seemed like the afterglow had dimmed to a dull single bulb swinging from the bare ceiling, plunging everything into half-darkness.

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Kurt turned off the TV again, the inane chatter of the people on the screen making his nerves stand on end. He'd been dumb and stupid and reckless and naïve and an idiot, and now he was paying for it. If you looked up 'dumbass' in the dictionary, you'd find the name _Kurt Hummel_.

He'd done a lot of regrettable things in his life, but this one hurt the most. The worst thing was, he'd meant every word he'd said and had, for once, not lied about his feelings, the way he almost always had done to avoid hurting the feelings of the other person. _Pretty stupid mistake to make_, _isn't it? _

The knowledge that he'd been honest _should_ have given him some kind of comfort. Honesty _was_ the best policy, after all – wasn't it? Or had he been wrong about that, too?

_I just can't believe I've fucked everything up._

It didn't get any better over the next few days. Every morning, Kurt would check his phone before even getting out of bed, hoping against hope that there would be a message, any kind of message, with the ID _Blaine_ attached to it. And, every time he checked, the screen of his cellphone remained blank. Nothing. No communication at all, whatsoever.

Not even a smiley face, which he had taken to texting to Kurt at various times throughout the day, a virtual pick-me-up that always put a matching smile on his face.

To make matters even worse, Rachel started asking questions. About his trip, about Blaine, about whether or not they'd spoken and how often and for how long; she even asked about the..._intimate_ details of their 'relationship' as she dubbed it, and Kurt felt himself cringing painfully when she did.

_Relationship. _The word felt strange and foreign in his head. Was that what they had – a _relationship_? What was even considered a relationship? From Kurt's experience, he would guess that two people had to be dating for a specific amount of time before 'dating' became a 'relationship'. That logic would dictate that he and Blaine _weren't_. They'd spent two vacations together and that was that. They hardly ever saw each other.

Did that mean they were in a relationship? Probably not. But if they _weren't_, then what _were_ they in? An arrangement? Friends with benefits? Casual fuck buddies? The very thought made Kurt's skin crawl. _That_ was something reserved for the likes of Noah Puckerman, an old friend from high school whom he hadn't heard from for a long time.

When Rachel called one night and he forgot to reject the call, she pounced on him like a cheetah on a piece of meat.

"How are you?" she demanded before Kurt could take a breath.

"Fantastic." he lied as cheerfully as possible. "Everything is great."

"You're lying to me." she said. _Dammit_. He could hear Jesse moving around in the background, clattering pots and pans; a couple of weeks after Kurt had returned from London, she'd moved back in with him.

"Rachel, I'm fine. Really. I'm okay."

"No, you're not. You're miserable and you've been moping." Rachel said.

"How could you possibly know that? You haven't seen me!" Kurt replied.

"I called your father after you refused to speak to me for three days." she said. "He said you've sounded distant lately."

"You...you called my dad?" Kurt asked in disbelief. _How dare she! It's not her place to stick her enormous Jewish nose in my business._

"I was _worried_ about you. I did you a favour." she said matter-of-factly. "Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong or not?"

"No." Kurt replied flatly.

"No?" Now it was Rachel's turn to sound disbelieving. "Kurt, I thought we were friends!" she wailed.

"We _are_ friends, but that doesn't mean I have to tell you every single thing going on in my life." Kurt pointed out grumpily.

"So there _is_ something going on!" Rachel cried. "I knew it! You're keeping secrets from me!"

Kurt let out an exasperated sigh.

"Rachel, I am not _keeping_ anything from you. I just want some space, that's all. You're acting like _I'm_ your fiancée and not Jesse. How are things between you now, by the way?"

"Don't change the subject." Rachel snapped. _She's good_, Kurt thought bitterly. _Better than I give her credit for, actually_. "I won't fall for that old trick.."

"Can we do this another time?" Kurt asked – no, _pleaded_ – in an effort to get her off the phone.

Rachel huffed so loudly she sounded like the Big Bad Wolf who blew down the house of the Three Little Pigs. Well, the one made of hay, anyway. He smiled a little at the thought of the old story his mother used to read to him as a kid. He remembered sitting up in bed eagerly, hearing her voice as she imitated the low growl of the wolf.

He knew he was getting distracted and that Rachel would get impatient soon, so he shook himself out of the memory.

"Well? Can we?" he said.

"Can we what?" Rachel asked.

"Can we do this another time?" he repeated.

"_Fine_." Rachel said. "But don't think you're getting out of this one, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt put the phone down, annoyed and not feeling much better. Conversations with Rachel tended to have that effect on people and this one was no exception. Mostly he was annoyed that she'd related her worries to his father, who would no doubt now worry _himself_ about Kurt's wellbeing, and he didn't want that to happen. The less his father worried about him, the better.

Sufficiently disgruntled, he decided that he might as well get round to those suit jacket order forms and carried them into the bedroom, intending to look over them before he went to sleep. He pulled off his clothes, grateful to be removing his formal pants and shirt, to change into his pyjamas when he stopped.

The unmistakable scent of Blaine's skin still clung to the soft, warn fabric, almost knocking him backwards and leaving him reeling in the lamplight. It was faint, but it was there, a lingering scent that made his eyes water with the memory of London and romance and disappointment.

Pushing the welling feeling of despair aside, he pulled on the pyjamas quickly and slipped into bed, covering himself up as much as possible. He tried not to dwell on the images and thoughts that floated to the forefront of his mind, concentrating instead on the order forms in his lap. But the words blurred and swam in front of him, making it impossible to concentrate on the task at hand. The letters jumped around on the page and made no sense. Eventually, he abandoned them and left them on the nightstand. _I'll take them into work tomorrow_.

He tired to sleep, but relaxation evaded him. He tossed and turned, trying everything he could possibly imagine to not think of Blaine but failing miserably. His smile, the way he laughed, the way his eyes sparkled when he was happy, filled his mind's eye as if imprinted onto the inside of his eyelids. It made his stomach tighten uncomfortably and his throat become dry, as real as if he really were in the room with him.

He didn't dream, but instead had a rather horrible nightmare in which he was back in London, with Blaine, only to be abandoned at the side of a dark street after being thrown from a taxi. He was also, for some reason, naked.

Needless to say, he'd woken in the middle of the night drenched in a cold sweat, his heart beating fast in his chest and his arms and legs shaking.

_I can't go on like this. I have to call him. _

_But what if he doesn't want to talk to me? _

_What do I do then?_

* * *

He waited another week before attempting to call Blaine.

Spring was in full swing; daffodils had sprung up along the flowerbeds in the garden at the front of the apartment block, which was tended to by the elderly woman who lived on the ground floor. The air was warm and the sky bright, save for the odd cloud here and there. Every morning, Kurt was awoken not by the sound of his alarm clock, but by the birds twittering in the trees outside his window.

Everything was as it should have been, and yet Kurt still felt...considerably _low_. The weight of Blaine's absence hung over him like a dark cloud, and _knowing_ that Blaine was out there in New York somewhere made Kurt's heart clench painfully. Whenever he saw a plane streaking through the air, he thought to himself, _is Blaine on that flight? If he is, where is he going?_

He was sitting in his office, chin in his hand, staring into space when he worked up the courage to do it. He had told Victoria earlier that he didn't want to be disturbed; no one would interrupt him.

He had to force himself to press the keys to dial Blaine's cellphone number, nerves closing around his throat like a vice. Kurt had no idea what he would say, but he knew that he just had to hear the sound of Blaine's voice.

He pressed _Call_. It started to ring. _Oh God, what if this all goes wrong? _

It rang several more times. Again, and again. And again.

The answering machine clicked on.

"_Hey, it's Blaine here, I obviously can't get to my cell right now so leave a message and I'll call you back later!_"

Kurt's spirits sank, but he still felt...relieved? It meant that he wouldn't have to deal with talking to Blaine directly, but at the same time, knowing that he hadn't answered was usually a warning sign that something was up.

If someone didn't answer your call, it either meant that they were busy...or that they were ignoring you. Kurt wasn't sure which option was more true. He hoped it was the former, but there was a much bigger chance that it was the latter, and it made him feel used.

He didn't bother leaving a message. He hung up the call immediately.

_Maybe if I pretend to be ill, my supervisor will let me leave early and I can just go home_, he thought. He really didn't feel like staying here all day. Kurt usually loved his job; but he didn't right now. It just depressed him.

_One more hour_, he told himself. _One more hour and then I'll make some excuse to leave. _This wasn't like him at all, but he couldn't stand it. It was almost unbearable. He was itching to call Blaine's cell again, just to hear his voice on the answering machine whilst wondering _why_ he was acting so strangely, so distant with him; as if he didn't even want to _know_ him. Maybe Blaine really was one of those calculating guys in movies, the cad who slept with the girl – or in this case, guy – and never called her (him) again. The one that everybody hated because he was cold, clever and manipulative. He'd seen enough movies in his lifetime to know how it worked.

He just never expected it to happen to him, and certainly not from someone like Blaine, who had been so kind, so sweet, so _caring_ and loving and gentlemanly and everything Kurt could ever have wished for – and more.

It just wasn't fair.

_I officially hate men._ _I hate them. I'm better off spending time with women. Hell, I'm better off spending time with _Rachel_ than I am with men._

_This sucks_.

If it was even possible, his low mood reached even lower and he eventually made up a lie to Victoria about feeling ill, telling her to push back his meetings and assignments to the following day because he was going home. She wished him all the best and hoped he'd feel better soon; he didn't return her optimism.

But then things got even worse.

First, he discovered that the kitchen sink had leaked and a huge puddle of water had accumulated on the kitchen floor, soaking the bottoms of his shoes and pants and making him curse out loud so loudly that the woman who lived across the hall poked her head around her door and asked if everything was okay.

Secondly, whilst trying to mop up said huge puddle with several kitchen towels, he slipped due to the fact that his (expensive) loafers had very little grip on the soles, landing hard on his left leg and feeling a sharp, shooting pain spread through his ankle.

Thirdly, he had collided with the kitchen cupboards when he fell and knocked off one of his best glasses, which then shattered on the floor close to his left hand.

With a leaking sink, sprained ankle and dangerously close to cutting his fingers on the shards of broken glass, he suddenly started to cry, not even knowing how or why the tears had simply welled up and spilled over, burning his cheeks.

He didn't care that the door to the apartment was wide open and that anyone could see in and spot him there, half-lying on the floor. In any other circumstance he would be severely embarrassed, or rather humiliated, and would attempt to get up on his injured foot and go about his business. But right now, none of that crossed his mind. _Perhaps I'll just stay here until someone walks past the apartment and finds me._

It was almost comical; the scene something similar to something you'd find in the old black and white slapstick movies his dad sometimes watched. But it wasn't funny and it wasn't something that was staged in front of a camera. Kurt would actually say that it was quite possibly the lowest point in his life since he'd met Blaine.

He was vaguely aware of the water from the sink seeping into the fabric of his pants, damp and slimy against his skin. He was also vaguely aware that yet more water was spreading rapidly across the tiled floor, coming from underneath the cupboard where the plumbing from the sink was strategically hidden.

_Oh, God. I'm living in a nightmare_.

Gripping the edge of the counter as best he could, he tried heaving himself up, shuddering at the way his damp pants stuck to his legs. He gritted his teeth against the searing pain in his ankle, which now felt like jello and was probably already starting to swell. _If I can just get over to the couch, I can assess the damage_, he thought.

He gingerly took a tiny step forward, keeping tight hold of the kitchen counter and trying his best to avoid the growing puddle of water. The pain in his ankle had intensified; it was now a throbbing pain, the worst kind, and it seemed to pulse under the tender skin. _Baby steps, Kurt_, he told himself. _Don't try and run over there at once_.

He had no choice. He would have to resort to hopping on one leg in flamingo fashion if he wanted to get over to the couch without doing more damage to his foot.

_This could_ not _be any more humiliating_, he thought as he began to hop towards the couch, throwing his arms out in order to keep his balance. There was a two-and-a-half metre gap between the kitchen and the couch and he hoped that he would be able to make it.

He did. Gripping the arm of the couch he deposited himself back against the cushions, carefully placing his injured foot straight out in front of him. In this position, it was impossible for him to sit upright and therefore he was lying lengthways across the couch. It was uncomfortable against his back, which was aching from sitting in an office chair all day – well, most of the day – but he'd take the discomfort if it meant taking some of the pain away from his ankle.

Unfortunately it meant that leaning over to untie his shoe was rather difficult from this angle.

Stretching his arm as far as he could manage, he tried untying the lace of his loafer one-handed, which proved as much of a challenge as he imagined climbing Everest would be. He eventually got the shoe and his sock off and then had to hold back a gasp as he realised that the damage was worse than he'd thought it was.

His foot was swollen and tender, the skin red and already starting to turn purple with bruising. There was a dark shadow of a bruise on his big toe which spread across the instep of his foot. It wouldn't be long before it turned purple and too painful to touch. Kurt knew that with a sprain this severe, he wouldn't be able to walk – let alone go to work – for weeks.

_Why does everything bad in my life have to happen at once?_ He thought bitterly. _If only I had Blaine. But he's ignoring me and won't call me. He must have known I called him, but he hasn't called back. Maybe on some level I knew he wouldn't. _

_I miss him already. _

The truth of this fact hit him like a speeding truck; he _did_ miss Blaine. He missed him terribly. Those three days in London had not been nearly enough time and he had left longing for more, wishing that their schedules were not so horribly conflicted so that they could see each other more often. It, to use the crude phrase, sucked. It sucked _badly_. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such longing for someone, a feeling so intense that it both scared and thrilled him.

His foot suddenly gave a particularly painful throb, making his leg jerk with the force of it. He bit his lip to keep from crying out; the door was still open and he didn't want anybody to hear him. He wished that someone _was_ with him, so that he wasn't stuck on the couch like an invalid, unable to walk the few steps to the kitchen or even to the bathroom.

_Oh, crap, how am I going to use the bathroom? I'm going to need one of those Zimmer frames that old people have and I'm only twenty-three!_

Feeling dejected, in pain and lonely, he pillowed one of the cushions from the couch under his head and rested on it. It made his shoulders ache, but he really didn't care at this point.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he dreamt of Blaine.

* * *

Sometime around 8pm, Kurt awoke with a stiff neck and cramp in both legs, and for a moment was too disorientated to remember where he was.

And then a dull pain from somewhere in the region of his lower leg brought him back to the present, and he remembered coming home and falling in the kitchen, spraining his ankle. He also remembered that the sink was probably still leaking and that he would have to call the landlord as soon as possible to arrange for it to be fixed.

_Shit_.

Then he remembered the broken glass on the floor.

_Shit, shit._

It just wasn't his month, was it? Everywhere he looked, something seemed to crumble from beneath him.

Reaching behind his head, he switched on the lamp that stood on the table next to the couch to allow some light to see by. And yes, he was right; the sink was still leaking, he could see the lamplight reflected dimly in the puddle of water that had now spread the entire tiled kitchen area.

He also really, really needed to pee.

_I need to do this carefully_, he thought, manoeuvring himself into a better sitting position. _I'll just have to be really, really slow_.

He set his good foot down on the carpet, swinging his body round so that he was facing forward. He was still wearing one loafer – he bent down to take it off, and his cellphone was knocked to the floor.

_Is the universe conspiring against me? _He thought sarcastically, reaching down for it with a loud huff of annoyance and general disapproval.

_3 missed calls from Blaine_.

Kurt's breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered hard and fast. _3 missed calls from Blaine_. Blaine had tried to call him whilst he'd been sleeping. He'd tried to call him and Kurt hadn't answered.

He didn't know which was worse. Knowing that he had and he'd missed him, or that he had and Kurt had thought of him so badly for _not_ calling him before now. But had he only called because Kurt had called _him_ first?

_**There's only one way to find out**_**, **the little voice in Kurt's mind piped up. _**Call him back**_**.**

_I can't do that._

_**Why not?**_

_I just can't. What would I say? I've put my foot in it once. I'm not going to make the same mistake again._

_**If you really meant what you said to him, you'd do it.**_

_I do. I do mean it. It's just a little more complicated than that_.

_**Complicated how? **_

_You wouldn't understand, you're just my annoying subconscious who thinks they're right all the time._

Yes, he realised that he'd just had a conversation with himself inside his own head about the matter but he was no longer surprised. Maybe he was going quite literally crazy. It would certainly take the edge off the heartache that he felt whenever he thought about Blaine.

_Heartache. I feel like a teenage girl_.

He stared at the little blue notification box on the screen of his phone, which still read _3 missed calls from Blaine_. It felt like an accusation, but of what he didn't know.

If he called him back, it would mean that he was willing to accept Blaine's ignorance of him and his strange reaction in London to Kurt's confession of love. It would mean telling him that it was okay to just drop him, to avoid contacting him, to avoid anything to _do_ with him. Which, of course, wasn't okay at all. And he would be damned if he let Blaine think that it was.

But yet...he cared for him, deeply. Ignoring him back would be just as bad, though a good form of revenge for his callousness. He cared for him too much to behave so ruthlessly, and yet...his mind and heart told him different things. His mind told him to not bother with him, to ignore him if he attempted to call again. His heart, on the other hand, told him that if he really thought he loved him, then he would forgive him.

But was there really anything to forgive?

That was the question at the back of Kurt's mind. Was it so bad as to warrant mercy, or not? More to the point, did he really _want_ to forgive him?

The answer was yes. Yes, he did.

And to be honest, if anything he just wanted somebody to talk to. If it was Blaine, it would be a thousand times better.

* * *

Kurt didn't need to call Blaine back. _He_ called _him_, the following morning.

Kurt had managed to get to his bedroom the previous evening, hopping on his one good foot whilst keeping the injured one as elevated as possible. In the spur of the moment, he tore a strip off the bottom of the fitted sheet on the bed and wrapped it around his ankle as tightly as he could endure, a makeshift sling until he could call a doctor to come and examine it properly.

He now adjusted the extra pillow he'd placed under it to keep it elevated as he reached for his phone, which was buzzing incessantly on the nightstand. He had to perform moves only seen during gymnastics performances to get to it, but it became worth it when he saw who it was.

_Incoming call from Blaine_.

Once again, his heart beat like a hummingbird's wings inside his chest as he debated for a split second whether or not to take the call. His thumb hovered over the _Accept Call_ button as it continued to ring, his mind torn but his heart telling him that he was doing the right thing if he pressed that button.

So he did.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few minutes. He could hear the shallow sounds of Blaine's breath, the way he swallowed convulsively before speaking.

"Hello?" Kurt said, hopeful but reluctant. If he prompted him first, he could maybe get an explanation out of him. An admittance. Maybe even a confession.

Silence.

"If you're not going to say anything, why did you call me?" he asked, a little more impatient this time. He didn't understand it. Why call, and not speak? Was it some kind of trick, a prank?

More silence. He knew Blaine was there; he could _hear_ him.

"I'm sorry." Blaine eventually said, so quietly that Kurt had to strain his ears to hear what he was saying. "I-I can't...I can't do it."

"Can't do what?" Kurt asked, gripping the phone so tightly against his ear that his palm had become sweaty, though he wasn't sure whether it was entirely from the grip alone or nervous perspiration.

"This."

One word. One single word and Kurt felt as though a ton of bricks had fallen on his head, crushing him into the mattress, right into the ground. Flattened, as if he'd been run over by a steamroller. Squashed like a fly.

"Why?" The demand was on his lips like a shot; tears pricked behind his eyes, and although he knew that Blaine couldn't see them, he hoped that he could _hear_ them in the sound of his voice.

"It's too complicated, Kurt. I wish it wasn't, but...it's...it's n-not going to w-work." Kurt noticed the way that Blaine stuttered over the words, but felt too numb, too hurt to truly register that fact at the given moment.

"What are you saying?" Kurt whispered, his voice thick with the tears he was desperate not to shed; he'd done his fair share of crying over the last day or so.

"I can't see you. I can't. I'm just not ready." Blaine explained, "I thought I was, but I'm...but I'm not. I'm not. I'm really, really sorry."

"You're not!" Kurt cried, "you're not sorry! I know you're not!" He was properly crying now, tears streaming hot and fast down his face and neck, down his pyjama shirt. He fisted the hem angrily, furiously, twisting the material in his hand as though it had caused him personal pain.

"I am, I really am." Blaine said. "I don't _want_ to do this."

"Then why _are_ you, Blaine? You can't just – you can't just get my hopes up like that, after so long..._seven fucking months_..." Kurt was gasping for breath, unable to form words around the lump wedged at the back of his throat.

Something seemed to spark within him then; a rage of sorts, an anger incomprehensible to him at the time. He was clutching his phone so hard that his knuckles turned white with strain, matching the pallor of his face.

"You know what? Don't...don't bother calling me again." He said sharply. "I don't want you to."

"I won't, then." Blaine said, his voice soft, smooth. A voice that would normally have Kurt's legs turning to soup. "If you don't want me to."

"I don't." _I do_.

"Okay."

"And Blaine?"

"Yes?"

_I love you_.

"Fuck you."

* * *

He was being sent to Rio de Janeiro. Two days from now.

Kurt had picked up the call with swollen eyes and shaking hands, not having moved from his bed for the better part of the morning. He hadn't even gone to work, using the excuse he'd given the previous afternoon about feeling unwell to get him out of it. He'd felt too miserable to face the day and there was no point bringing his sprained ankle into the equation. It would only complicate things further.

But _Rio de Janeiro_. The heart of music, culture, colour and vibrancy. The heart of samba music and carnivals and the finest Portuguese cuisine.

He was going to one of the most exciting places on earth and he just didn't..._want_ to.

The very thought of getting on a plane right now made him feel sick to his stomach, and the slightest chance of seeing Blaine was...well, it was too much for him to handle right now. It was ironic, this time around five months ago he was begging for an assignment that would take him abroad to another country in the hope that he _would_ catch sight of the flight attendant with the nice ass that he had become so interested in.

How different things were now.

Because he and Blaine no longer had a 'thing'. They didn't have any 'thing'. Nothing at all. Not anymore.

He hopped into the kitchen and made himself some extra strong coffee, stronger than he usually took it, and then heaped in double the amount of sugar he would normally have. Unsweetened nonfat wouldn't help him now – he would have to pull out the big guns if he wanted his mood to resemble some kind of normalcy by tomorrow morning.

_I might as well go all out and use full-fat milk, too_, he thought. _It's not going to get any worse if I do_. He poured in said milk and took the mug to the couch, still hopping – albeit very gingerly to avoid spilling the coffee – on his good foot. It hurt less now, but was still a little swollen and extremely tender. He took a sip and almost relished the way the too-hot drink burned his throat on the way down.

The trouble was, the more he tried _not_ to think about Blaine, it was all that he _could_ do. His face swam in his mind's eye as though burned onto his eyelids, a permanent tattoo that only reminded him of the emotional pain that he was feeling.

And the kitchen sink still needed fucking fixing.

At least most of the water had evaporated overnight, and it seemed like the leaking had stopped, so it was safe to go into the kitchen. He still had to avoid the broken glass, however.

He suddenly remembered that he _couldn't_ go to Rio de Janeiro anyway – his ankle made him unable to navigate his own apartment safely without hopping like a flamingo, there was no way he'd make it around Rio on one foot. He would have to call the _Vogue_ offices and tell them to send someone else, that he couldn't do it.

Screw them if they complained.

As he sat there drinking his coffee and hoping that the red swelling around his eyes would go down soon in case someone saw him, he let himself wallow in misery. If there was one thing he was good at doing when things were hard, it was wallowing. He'd wallowed quite effectively after being rejected from NYADA; he'd wallowed when Rachel announced her engagement to Jesse and he realised he would probably spend the next five years single.

When he thought about it, it was kind of foreshadowing the situation that he was in right now.

But he felt even worse when he realised that he wouldn't be able to drive to the store for cheesecake and no restaurants or bakeries in the neighbourhood did takeout. Not that he really expected them to.

_Maybe I'll just call Rachel and ask her to bring me some. She can call the landlord whilst she's here and get him to bring someone in to fix the sink because _I _certainly don't know how to. I grew up a mechanic, not a plumber_.

Once he'd called her – dodging her questions for the time being about _why_ he needed cheesecake at three in the afternoon and _why_ he wasn't at work – she was knocking on the door within the hour.

She was also holding a deliciously tempting-looking cheesecake.

"Why is your floor wet?" she asked, standing on tiptoes to save her shoes – a birthday gift from Kurt last year – as she put the cheesecake on the table and rummaged in his cupboards for a plate and fork. She must have known instinctively that he wouldn't require just one slice – he had been known to eat a whole cheesecake by himself in times of sheer desperation. Sometimes even two cheesecakes.

She brought it over and plonked herself down next to him, unwinding a pale blue scarf from around her neck. She gasped when she saw the makeshift bandage around his ankle.

"What did you do?" she asked, peering close to inspect the bruised skin.

"I slipped in the kitchen." He said, his throat raspy from all the previous crying. "The sink leaked."

"Which is why the floor is wet?" she asked.

Kurt nodded.

She looked at his face critically, her eyebrows knotted in concern. He helped himself to forkful of cheesecake; strawberry and lime, his favourite. Just the right amount of creaminess in the texture to balance out the sweetness of the strawberries and the zing of the lime. He'd tried baking his own cheesecake once, but it hadn't gone so well.

"You've been crying, haven't you?" Her voice softened; it wasn't an accusation, just an enquiry. But Kurt wasn't sure he wanted to answer. He avoided replying by swallowing another forkful of dessert.

"You have." Rachel answered herself. "Your eyes are all small and piggy."

"Thanks, Rachel." Kurt said sarcastically through yet another bite of cheesecake.

Her face became serious, something that should have set off alarm bells in Kurt's head. It was the face she made when she was determined.

"Are you being physically satisfied?"

Kurt spat out the cheesecake he'd been in the middle of eating, his face turning a dark shade of pink.

"_What?_"

"Because, Kurt, I think you're lonely. And lonely people aren't physically satisfied, and when people aren't physically satisfied they become angry and aggressive and will eventually die alone." She concluded, leaving Kurt staring at her disbelief.

He'd called looking for some sympathy, and he gets _this_?

"That's none of your business." He said tightly, refusing to let the memories of a certain afternoon in a certain London hotel push themselves to the forefront of his mind; not now.

"Oh, but it _is_. You're sad, Kurt. I don't want you to be sad."

"Blaine doesn't want to see me anymore." Kurt said in a fast rush, in order to make it as painless as possible. "He called me this morning."

Rachel's mouth gaped open, giving her the appearance of a stunned goldfish.

"Oh, _Kurt_." She gushed sympathetically, rubbing his arm in what she probably thought was a comforting gesture. If Kurt was honest, it just made him feel worse. He hated pity.

"It's fine." He said, stabbing at the cheesecake with his fork and shovelling it into his mouth dejectedly. "I'm dealing with it."

"Clearly you're not, since I got you cheesecake and I _know_ you've been crying." Rachel replied. "Don't you dare lie to me."

Eventually, Kurt had to give in. "Fine." He set the cheesecake aside on the table for later. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

"I feel like somebody's reached through my chest and crushed my heart in their first." He admitted, his head hanging. He folded his arms uncomfortably, a clear sign that he was upset. "I just can't believe I got my hopes up so high, only to be disappointed. Again."

"It can't all be bad. Can it?"

"He told me that it wasn't going to work and that he couldn't do "this" anymore, but he didn't even tell me what "this" was." Kurt sniffed, the tears threatening to return.

Rachel made her 'focused' face, which meant furrowing her eyebrows until they became one brow and screwing up her mouth so it looked as small and puckered as a newborn baby's.

"I should have got you two cheesecakes instead of one." She announced a few moments later. "You'll need them."

"Is this supposed to help?" Kurt asked grumpily, resuming his consumption of the first cheesecake. "I can't work for six weeks because of my ankle. At least, I can't go into the office."

"You could work from home." Rachel suggested. "You've done that before."

"I don't want to." Kurt sighed. "I don't feel like doing anything."

Rachel shook her head. "You really have fallen for him, haven't you?"

"Yeah." Kurt wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "I think I have."

She looked at him sympathetically for a few minutes, the same way a person might look at the last dog in the pound that nobody else wanted. Kurt wasn't sure if it was supposed to make him feel better or not. She gestured for him to move closer to her and, being careful of his injured ankle, she pulled him into a not unpleasant, rather comforting hug.

He'd forgotten how good her hugs could be.

Resting his head on her shoulder, he allowed himself at least to try and forget everything that had happened, and instead tried to think of what _could_ happen if things did work out.

The following morning, he called work and told them he couldn't make it. They sent one of the newer interns, Jessica, to Rio instead.

He was relieved. The worst had been avoided...for now, at least.

* * *

_**A/N: Leave a review pretty please, if you're not too angry with me for this? Trust me, good things will happen. All in good time. All in good time.**_


	10. May: Tokyo Part 1

**_A/N: I've got another two-parter here for you to enjoy, and there are several reasons for that. 1) I apologise profusely for the wait in updates, I've been busy with my exam results and getting into university and doing a shitload of prep work for that, so I haven't had much time to write. 2) I've had pretty bad writer's block for about a week and couldn't get this chapter out the way I wanted. 3) It was super long anyway. 4) I have BIG PLANS for this chapter which means it would work better in two parts._  
**

**_Enough from me - on with the story!_**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

**May: Tokyo (Part 1)**

With all that had happened, Kurt almost forgot that it was his birthday at the end of the month. He would be twenty-four and for the first time in several years, he wasn't looking forward to it at _all_.

When he was a kid, he'd loved birthdays. It was mostly because birthdays when you're a child meant presents and cake and getting showered in attention by your family and friends.

For his sixth birthday, he'd received a brand-new bike, although his father hadn't let him ride it until he'd mastered the art of riding his stabilised bike first. He remembered his dad and mom cheering him on as he wobbled down the driveway for the first time, a proud smile on his face and theirs.

For his seventh birthday, he'd received the complete set of Power Rangers action figures, something that he'd begged his parents for for months beforehand. Most of the afternoon that day had been spent constructing elaborate stories for each Power Ranger and numerous complicated relationships including marriages, divorces and several cases of adultery.

That year, his mother died and for his eighth birthday, he didn't ask for anything. Instead, he went to his mother's grave and left her daisies, her favourite flowers, his gift to her.

High school was completely different. The gifts he asked for were things like a new scarf, a sweater he'd had his eye on from Marc Jacobs, a pair of boots he'd lusted after. His sixteen-year-old self got a car and, when he was seventeen, permission to drive further than the grocery store, school and the mall.

For his graduation gift, his dad had spent hours and hours practising the dance to one of Kurt's favourite high school-era songs, and had performed it for him (rather well, he might add) with two of Kurt's old school friends, Tina and Brittany. It was one of the best gifts he'd ever received.

But now? Now he half-hoped everyone would just forget about his birthday and go on with their own lives.

Sitting at his laptop with his still-bandaged foot elevated (the bruising had turned an unpleasant shade of yellow-brown now), he meticulously filled in a spreadsheet for the monthly expenditure on fashion imports. Unfortunately it was a part of the job that he hated, but had to be done; he couldn't just buy the clothes as he pleased, he had to keep track of where he bought them from, how many and for how much. It was mind-numbing, time-consuming work.

But it had, so far, successfully distracted him from things that he really, really didn't want to think about. Like his birthday.

And Blaine.

He'd deleted his number from his cellphone and had it blocked in case he tried to call again – not that Kurt thought he would. He'd all but erased all memory of him from his mind. He didn't think about him, he didn't even mention his name. Even Rachel had learnt after those initial few days not to talk about it, a first for her since she never really listened to anything Kurt said and often did things she wasn't supposed to.

Like mention his birthday in the second week in May, after taking him to the hospital to have his ankle examined.

"So what are you doing for your birthday this year?" she asked him, quite companionably, as she drove him home (he wasn't able to himself).

"The answer to that question would be nothing." Kurt said. "I'm not celebrating my birthday this year."

"But, Kurt, you have to! It's your _birthday_!" she cried out, taking her eyes off the road to look at him in disbelief.

"I don't 'have' to do anything." He grumbled irritably.

"Yes, you do. Because I'm throwing a party for you and you're going to enjoy it." She stated simply, pressing her lips into a tight line.

"Rachel, _no_!" Kurt groaned. "Can't you just...give me a cake and leave me alone?"

"No." She said. And that seemed to be that, because she didn't say anything else and they spent the rest of the journey in silence.

* * *

Not for the first time, Blaine wondered whether he really had done the right thing as he caught yet another glimpse of a tall, pale, brown-haired passenger and had to remind himself that the chances of this person or that person being Kurt was practically zero.

For weeks, he had been seeing Kurt wherever he went. Or rather, people who reminded him of Kurt. The waiter who'd served him his coffee in a cafe a few blocks from his apartment had the same blue eyes as he did. The man he'd bumped into in the aisle coming out of the airplane bathroom wore the same kind of pants that Kurt wore. A passenger on his flight to Copenhagen spoke in the same high-pitched voice that Kurt did.

He was pretty sure that he was going out of his mind and he was powerless to stop it. Or maybe he didn't want to. He couldn't be sure.

The one thing he did know was that he would never have the courage to put it right.

Because he, Blaine Anderson, was a coward.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how good he was at his job, no matter how friendly or kind or outgoing he tired to be, no matter how much he was thanked for his impeccable service on flights, nothing was going to change that fact. Nothing.

* * *

Kurt was dreaming of Blaine again, just when he thought he'd gotten rid of the flight attendant from his mind. The dreams were frequent, and always the same. They'd fall into each other's embrace and kiss passionately, feeling sweaty skin and hot breath as they made love and came together in a dizzying rush. The dreams left Kurt feeling exhausted, and lonely, and in dire need of a change of pyjama pants.

In short, they were trying to tell him something important that he wasn't yet ready to face.

Determined _not_ to think of the impending red letter event taking place at the end of the month that would involve forced celebration and enjoyment i.e. his birthday, he threw himself back into his work with as much gusto as he could manage. After falling into a bad depression for a week or so and now that his ankle was on the mend, he was able to take on more responsibility from home before he could return to the offices with both legs and feet intact.

He apologised profusely to Jessica, who had gone to Rio instead of him and had an awful time, promising to make it up to her by buying her a cupcake at lunch every day for a week. She reluctantly agreed as long as the cupcake was red velvet.

He also apologised to everyone under his supervision for 'dropping the ball' work-wise lately and promised not to let it happen again. That one, he wasn't so sure about. Life could be unpredictable; sometimes it threw you curve balls you had never imagined and then you were left wondering what on this earth you were going to do with yourself.

Which is why, a week before his birthday, his depression turned into determination.

Instead of moping about the apartment like a limp cabbage, he decided that he would take action and _do_ something about his life that didn't involve order receipts for geometric print skirts.

He enrolled in a Japanese cooking class.

Kurt wasn't really sure _why_ exactly, but he'd always liked Asian food and he might as well expand his culinary talents beyond the traditional, basic cooking everyone could do. Besides, he'd always wanted to know how sushi was _really_ made – although he wasn't too hot on the idea of having to skin and gut a fish himself.

Needless to say, Rachel had been more than little concerned.

"Why are you taking a cooking class?" she'd demanded when they met for their semi-regular lunch plans the day after he'd signed up for the class.

"Why not?" he shrugged, pulling apart a soft bread roll and dunking it unceremoniously in his coffee, at which Rachel pulled a face. It was actually quite nice that way, if you left the bread unbuttered.

"You're substituting a hobby for love." Rachel said with a shake of her head, taking a bite out of her tofu sandwich (Kurt didn't understand how she could eat it, it tasted horrible). "It's not good for you, Kurt. You'll know that one day when you're old and alone and the only person who comes to visit you is the home help nurse provided for your care by your non-existent grandchildren."

"Who said I won't have grandchildren?" Kurt snapped, dunking his bread roll again a little more ferociously. "I might end up having twelve kids and three dogs, Rachel Berry, which most definitely means grandchildren."

"You don't like dogs." Rachel retorted.

"That's not the point!" Kurt said through a mouthful of bread. "The point is, you're insane and I'm not listening to you anymore."

"You're just retaliating with anger because you know I'm right." Said Rachel self-righteously, and Kurt felt an inexplicable urge to slap her, enormous nose and all. He gripped his spoon rather tightly to repress the urge.

"Have you heard from Blaine since...?" she asked suddenly, prompting Kurt to drop aforementioned spoon.

"No." He said tightly. "I blocked his cell so he can't reach me."

"Oh."

They ate in silence for a moment; Rachel her disgusting tofu sandwich, Kurt his chicken and mushroom soup.

"Maybe you should try online dating?" Rachel suggested, and Kurt nearly inhaled soup up his nose from laughing so hard. _Please tell me she's not serious_. _She cannot be serious_.

"No way." He said. "No freaking way, Rachel."

"It was just a _suggestion_." she sniffed. "I know a few people who've found perfectly decent partners on such websites, some of them are even married now."

"It's not my thing, Rachel. I like seeing a person face to face. I like to kiss and touch."

"You can do that _after_ you've met them online." Rachel said, if he didn't know. He'd heard the horror stories that became front-page headlines; he knew the dangers, the risks. No. He'd rather meet a person, well, in person and get to know them face-to-face.

_Maybe that's why Blaine doesn't want to see me anymore_, he thought out of the blue. _We hardly ever saw each other. It was never going to work out, anyway. He was too busy and so was I. _But maybe he was only comforting himself with those thoughts.

Anyway, thinking of Blaine was too painful, so he concentrated instead on eating and his impending cooking class. It would be fun; he'd learn something new and maybe make a few friends outside of _Vogue. _Goodness knows he needed a wider circle of acquaintances.

* * *

After running late at the offices and having to strategically deal with the catastrophe of an order gone wrong without letting his supervisor or the rest of the building know about his blunder, Kurt was glad to finally reach the small restaurant where the cooking class was being held – a Japanese restaurant, of course – and breathe in the intoxicating smell of Asian spices as he slipped through the door.

He hadn't been here before – it was new to him – but it felt homely. The walls were painted dark red and there were several Japanese plants in large terracotta pots placed around the main restaurant, which was filled with small black-topped tables with candles glowing on them. He followed the chatter he could here to the back of the restaurant, where the enormous steel door that lead to the kitchen stood ajar.

Kurt was relieved to see that the other members of the class were like himself, every day people who were decidedly non-Japanese. He thought that if they _had_ been Japanese, he would have felt intimidated. It would also be cheating, since they had probably grown up cooking Japanese food and would already know the basics. If so, why would they sign up for a class like this?

But thankfully, they weren't.

He said hello to a few people and told them his name, and was surprised to find that most of them had rather banal, so-so jobs. There was a plumber, a painter, a kindergarten teacher, a woman who owned a spice store, a man who was a self-employed contractor, a husband and wife who owned an eco-friendly cafe and a few people who worked in construction, but nobody had a job title much higher than that. Kurt felt suddenly out of place, working in the fashion world and earning a pretty decent salary, compared to these people who probably earned a lot less than he did.

Luckily he was distracted from worrying about feeling self-conscious by the arrival of the instructor, a tall, friendly-faced Japanese woman – naturally – with dark hair scraped on top of her head in a topknot. She wore no makeup, but her face was pretty. She was already dressed in a chef's white outfit, and carried a white chef's hat under her arm.

She looked so..._traditional_ that when she spoke, Kurt was shocked to hear a thick Brooklyn accent come out of her mouth.

"First thing you want to know? Forget everything you know about traditional Japanese cuisine from ordering from take-out menus. Those places don't know how to cook real Japanese food, they just slather it in sauces and chemicals and expect us to take for granted that it's authentic. Well, I can tell you from childhoods growing up in Kyoto that they're wrong. You won't find mass-produced factory food in my restaurant or anywhere else in Japan, not even in take-outs – yes, we have those there." She laughed. Kurt decided that he liked this woman.

She clapped her hands warmly, then seemed to realise something. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot – I'm Alice Reece. Just call me Alice. Now, for our first lesson we are going to look at the basics of good Japanese food – good, organic ingredients. It has to be fresh, it has to be clean, and it has to be free from any chemicals that they spray on the stuff you get at the grocery store. My advice? Buy from street markets – they will always have fresh ingredients, fruit and vegetables, that you can use."

_I wish I'd thought to bring a notepad to write all this down_, he thought. _Oh God, I'm turning into Rachel Berry_.

Then, Alice split them into groups to have them each learn about a specific key ingredient that they would be using over the next couple of weeks. It should have felt patronising, but it didn't; it was nice sometimes for someone to break it down for you in a way that you felt you could understand. Kurt didn't get that a lot and he relished the new learning environment.

The hour actually passed rather enjoyably and he found himself grouped with the kindergarten teacher and the eco-cafe wife, both very nice and easy to get on with. Then again, he'd always got on well with women – the teacher was also female and still quite young, perhaps only a couple of years older than he was. It was men that were rather more difficult because they didn't seem to like him as much, though there were plenty of male colleagues at _Vogue_ who were happy to be polite. Then again, most of them, like him, were gay.

Except for Tim from accounting, but nobody talked about him. Or his estranged wife. Or his dog.

Moreover, Kurt really did find himself enjoying the experience. He certainly learnt more that he had in a while and was surprised by a few things – _I had no idea the chemicals they put in take-out food_ – but above all, he found himself having _fun_ for the first time.

He didn't even think about Blaine at all. Not once.

* * *

Blaine was thinking of Kurt. Or rather, thinking of ways that he could possibly put things right with Kurt after things had gone so horribly wrong.

At first, he'd thought of finding a way to contact him – he knew that Kurt had blocked his cellphone number – but everything he came up with involved illegal methods, and he didn't think Kurt would approve too much.

Plus, he didn't think he would think much of himself if he did any of those things, either.

He wondered about calling his brother for advice, but then thought better of it. He wasn't sure he wanted to listen whilst Cooper listed all the 'amazing' things that had happened to him and how great _his_ life was, only to be told that he was busy and couldn't talk right now, so could he call back? No. Cooper was out of the question.

The answer came to him on a very boring, very uneventful flight to Tokyo.

He couldn't help but overhear a middle-aged woman on the phone to someone who could only be her daughter, and she seemed to be comforting her about a relationship problem. He stopped stacking Styrofoam coffee cups with removable lids to listen in on the conversation; not an easy task when the rest of the plane was so noisy and full of chatter.

"Oh, honey, listen to me. You know what you have to do? You have to tell that idiot exactly how you feel about him, or else if you don't, he won't know. And if he doesn't know, you're not gonna get a proposal off that man anytime soon."

_Okay, so maybe the idea of a proposal is a _little_ extreme_, he thought, but listening to her made something click inside his head. He'd always prided himself on his ability to be honest and speak with the genuine feeling that communication demanded. It was ironic that only now that skill was failing him.

It was so simple, so obvious, that he could have kicked himself for not realising it sooner. _I just have to be honest with him._ _That's it_. _I can do that. I can_.

_I have to_. _But how?_

* * *

The morning of his twenty-fourth birthday, Kurt was awoken rather violently by someone repeatedly hitting him over the head with a large pillow.

"Kurt, you need to get up _now!_" an all-too-familiar-voice shrieked, and he cowered back under the duvet away from the source of the noise. _It's too early for this_. _And it's especially too early for Rachel Berry_.

"Kurt, _come on_! You have to be out of the apartment so I can get everything ready for your party!" Rachel shrieked again, pulling the duvet away from him so that his pyjama-clad body was exposed to the cool air of the May morning.

_Party. His birthday party. Crap. _He'd forgotten all about it until now; in fact, it was only just registering that it was indeed his birthday until Rachel had mentioned the party.

He was turning twenty-four. _Twenty-four_. For someone in the fashion industry, he was practically middle-aged. Twenty-four. It was only his luck that he was born with infantile features which made him look younger than he actually was; both a blessing and a curse, as when he was a kid people on the street mistook him for a middle-schooler when he was in high school.

Not exactly helpful, when you think about it.

Grudgingly, he dragged himself out of bed on his crutches and moaned when he saw the state of his hair in the bathroom mirror. It didn't look the best first thing in the morning regardless, but now it looked like a bird had used it as a makeshift nest. Pushing his fingers through it and pulling it this way and that didn't help. He was going to have to wash it and start from scratch.

"Hurry up!" Rachel demanded from outside the bathroom door. "I want you out of this apartment in twenty minutes!"

Kurt almost dropped the bottle of shampoo he was holding. _Twenty minutes? _Did she even know him at all? It would take him at _least_ an hour to fix the catastrophe that was his hair, not to mention his morning skincare routine that he'd been keeping up since he was thirteen years old, as _well_ as finding an appropriate outfit for the day. And his _sprained ankle_.

"You can't be serious!" he yelled back.

"Oh, I'm very serious! I want you out of this apartment so I can get everything ready!" she replied.

"Rachel..." he asked carefully. "How many people are coming to this party?"

"A few people." She said, but she sounded apprehensive, even nervous. Kurt became suspicious.

"Define 'a few'." He said, with caution.

"Thirty."

"_Thirty!_" it was his turn to shriek. "Thirty, Rachel? Are you serious? I know I make a substantial amount of money at _Vogue_ but you and I both know my apartment isn't all that big, and it _definitely_ isn't big enough for thirty people to spend the night here comfortably!"

_What the hell is she thinking? She's insane. She's completely insane. There's absolutely no way thirty people, plus me and her, can fit in my apartment._

"What about food and drink?" he suddenly asked, thinking of it.

"I'll take care of all of that." She assured him. "Now, go get dressed. You have fifteen minutes."

_I really don't know why I put up with her_. Kurt stomped across the bathroom, biting his lip when pain flared up along his ankle and foot, seizing his hairspray and styling crème from the cupboard, a comb, and his usual day face cream. He wasn't happy about cutting his skincare routine in half by Rachel's ridiculous time constrictions, but he supposed he would have to be flexible.

"Oh! I almost forgot, Kurt – happy birthday!"

* * *

Kurt was very, very, very bored.

He'd walked a quarter of Central Park – on crutches, no less - eaten three pretzels and drank two cups of coffee, petted a dog, thrown a ball back to a group of boys playing soccer and used the bathroom.

This was not how he had expected to spend his twenty-fourth birthday.

To make matters worse, he was sure he'd bruised a toe and his parents hadn't called him yet to wish him 'Happy Birthday!'

Lifting himself up onto his crutches, he decided to walk back the quarter of the park to where he'd started, and see about getting a taxi somewhere – his foot really was hurting now. Maybe he could go to one of the art galleries or stop for something to eat that wasn't a salty, greasy – but delicious – snack in a cafe somewhere. Goodness only knew New York was full of them.

He really hoped Rachel was almost ready with whatever 'party arrangements' she had, because he just wanted to sit on his couch and watch terrible TV and not have to worry about work or friends or even doing anything at all on his birthday.

The clock in the cafe that he stopped in read 12:01pm. He'd only been out for three hours. Surely Rachel would be done by now?

Sipping his third coffee – full fat milk, extra caffeine shot – he sat back and resorted to his old habit of people-watching. It always got him through particularly uneventful days at the _Vogue_ offices. Perhaps it would give him the same relief now.

He watched as a couple strolled in and took drinks to go, hand in hand and making his stomach clench uncomfortably. An elderly lady ordered a slice of chocolate fudge cake and a large espresso and sat eating it with her fingers, crumbs falling down her baggy coral-coloured shirt. Two little boys came in with a dark-haired woman with wrinkles around her eyes and had juice made for them in sippy cups by the barista, which Kurt thought was cute. A man who appeared to be in his late forties ordered carrot cake and asked for a plastic fork to eat it with. He didn't order a drink.

It was slightly cramped and there wasn't much room to extend his aching foot under the table, but it was good enough for the time being. It felt nice to be out for a change instead of either at home or in the office – the latter he couldn't do anyway due to his _situation_ - but he would have rather liked to be in his own apartment, especially today. However, due to Rachel's enthusiasm and insistence that he have a party, he wasn't able to.

_Remind me again why I continue to endure her and all that she entails? _He thought to himself, absently tapping his fingers in a nonsensical rhythm against the side of the coffee cup. _Oh, it's because she knows too much about me so that if I ever cut her off she'd tell everyone my secrets and cause me lifelong ridicule and pain. That's why_.

Plus, she got him cheesecake whenever he needed it which was as good a reason as any to keep her around.

Eventually, he got fed up and decided that he would call Rachel and see if he was able to return to his apartment yet. He was practically an invalid and making him stay out of his own home longer than necessary was probably abuse.

Right on cue and as if it had read his mind, his cellphone rang in his pocket, though it was a few seconds before he heard it due to the crowded shop and the noise around him.

"Can I come back yet?" he asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"No!" Rachel said. "I'm not finished yet. The party isn't until 3pm and it's only 12:30." He checked the clock on the wall. She was right. _Fantastic. _

"Rachel, I have a bad ankle. I'm on crutches. How on earth am I supposed to stay out, in New York, on crutches for another two and a half hours?"

"Think of something. Go see a movie."

"I don't have any money since _you_ forced me out of _my_ apartment in such a hurry this morning." He quipped, rather more viciously than he should have. "On crutches, I might add."

"Yes, you've established your handicapped situation very clearly, thank you." Rachel sniffed, stung. "Look, I really want this to be perfect so just give me a little more time, okay? It's not every day you turn twenty-four, you know."

Kurt sighed. He knew that he would have to give in or he'd hurt her feelings, and that was something he _really_ didn't feel like doing in his current situation. He also knew that if he did, she'd hang it over his head for the rest of his life and possibly even during his funeral, too.

"Sorry." He apologised. "Life's not been too great lately."

"I understand." She said, sincerely – so sincerely, in fact, that he actually believed her. "Okay, how about a compromise – two thirty instead of three?" she offered.

He thought about it for a minute. "That seems reasonable."

"Okay. Two thirty then. I'll have less time to prepare, but I'm nothing if not a fast and efficient worker. It's how I learnt all my lines and lyrics in seventy-two hours for a theatre production of _Evita_ when I was at NYADA."

"Rachel, you _already knew_ all the lines and lyrics to _Evita_ and you have done since you were seven years old." He pointed out.

"True. But that's not the point here. The point is that I'm awesome and I'm going to throw you a kick-ass birthday party."

_There we go, classic Rachel Berry_, Kurt sighed to himself. He pursed his lips and swallowed the last of his coffee, now lukewarm but surprisingly just as good, as he thought of what to say next.

"I think I'll wait until after the event to thank you." was his reply.

* * *

When Kurt hobbled into the apartment just after two-thirty that afternoon, he was immediately accosted by his father and Carole – whom he was stunned to see and couldn't believe had travelled all this way just for a _party_ – who enquired about his injury and whether he could walk, and whether it hurt, and when he was going to be able to drive again. His father also pressed a neatly-wrapped box into his momentarily outstretched hands – he was hugging Carole – and told wished him a rather tearful-looking 'Happy birthday, kid'.

He noticed that Finn was also there – which he thought was a slight risk given that Rachel was also present, handing out snacks and offering drinks to various relatives and some of Kurt's friends. His colleagues from work, including his assistant Victoria, were there and greeted him enthusiastically when they saw him arrive.

It was all rather impressive considering it had been put together in only a few hours.

He could hear the faint strains of music coming from the CD player on the kitchen counter – regular Top 40 stuff, but he recognised a few of the songs and found himself awkwardly shuffling along in time to the music as best he could with the use of only one foot, as he caught Carole up on everything that had happened since he'd last seen her.

He, of course, left out the part about Blaine.

Feeling the ache in his foot returning, he went to position himself on the couch, where he was joined by Finn. His gargantuan stepbrother was as tall as ever but just as well-meaning.

"Dude, what happened to your foot?" he asked, swallowing a large gulp of lemonade. Kurt thought that he was far too old now to be called _dude_ as a term of endearment, but since it was his birthday and he was feeling surprisingly generous all of a sudden, he let it slide.

"The sink broke and there was water all over the kitchen, so I slipped and sprained my ankle." He explained. "I can't work for another five weeks, at least not in the office, so I've been working from home."

"You can do that?" Finn sounded surprised; not that it was really anything shocking.

"Yes." Kurt laughed. "You can do that." He remembered something that Carole had mentioned the last time he'd been home. "Carole said you had a new girlfriend." He prompted.

"Oh, yeah. Mandy. She's really great, I really like her." Finn said.

"It's serious?"

"I'm not sure. I think so. I want it to be." His stepbrother smiled. "I think you'd like her."

"I'm sure I would." A pause. "Do dad and Carole like her?"

"They haven't exactly...met her, yet." Finn said quietly, looking nervously to where their parents were standing, deep in conversation. "It's not the right time."

"Finn, you've been dating for months." Kurt pointed out.

"I just want to...to make sure it's special, y'know?" he said carefully, downing the remainder of his lemonade and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. "I want it to really mean something."

"Yeah." Kurt replied. "I understand."

And he did. He did understand what Finn meant; if you really liked someone, you wanted to be sure that they absolutely felt the same way and that the time was right. If the time wasn't right, then there was no point wasting yourself on someone not worth your affection.

_How ironic that sounds now_, he thought. _Where was this logic when I needed it two months ago?_

"Cool." was Finn's monosyllabic reply. Not that Kurt expected much more; Finn was a man of few words. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

Not much of a party-goer, Kurt was happy to observe the guests rather than join in with them, even if it _was_ his own party. He'd always been that way, and it felt nice to know that all these people, all his friends and family, were here for _him_. It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling not unlike the sensation he'd had when he'd tried whisky for the first time at the age of nineteen, without the lingering aftertaste of solvents and the burning in the back of the throat.

Needless to say, he didn't like whisky.

In fact, he was more of a wine person, and gratefully accepted a glass from Rachel, who was passing around a rather expensive-looking bottle and a tray of equally expensive-looking wine glasses – where she got those, Kurt would never know. The sweet-sour taste and the warm aftermath that blossoms on the tongue is a far cry from the overpowering stench of Jack Daniels and anyway, wine is much more sophisticated.

Someone then turns the music up – Kurt suspects Victoria – and it's like an instant boost to his low spirits; music has always been able to do that to him. It's an old song, something that his father might have listened to, or Carole, but it makes him feel better and he wiggled the toes of his good foot in time to the beat, perfectly content.

It was nice. It was comfortable. And it was uplifting.

It was, in short, exactly what he needed. With everything that had happened, he really needed a good pick-me up, and where was a better place to find one than surrounded by family and friends?

Then one of his colleagues, a red-haired woman a few years older than him called Samantha with whom he was fairly, came to talk to him. She pressed a purple box into his free hand with a wink.

"How you doin'?" After two years working together, he would never get used to her thick Texan drawl.

"Okay, I guess." He smiled, taking a gulp of wine. "Life could be better, but I suppose that's just how it is."

"Oh, come on now. It's your birthday, have a little fun!" she glanced at his bandaged foot, the crutches resting against the arm of the couch. "Well, as much fun as you can with only one leg."

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching everyone else. He'd always liked Samantha; she was one of _Vogue_'s better representatives. Plus, she was able to get Kurt cut-price materials and fabrics due to her 'connections' higher up in the fashion industry, if there was such a thing as being higher up in the fashion industry than working at _Vogue_.

"You're not going to make a pirate joke, are you?" he asked concernedly, grimacing teasingly.

"No, not this time. But count yourself lucky." She laughed, and Kurt found himself laughing with her. Sometimes it was better to go with the flow rather than focus on one single thing and let it consume you completely; life was sometimes better that way.

_This whole thing's really messed up my mind and I really don't know what to think or do about it. This isn't _like_ me. _

He excused himself to go to the bathroom, a difficult task considering he had to hobble across the living room navigating guests to do it. The quiet that enveloped him was strangely calming when he shut the door and blocked out the noise outside. It came to him that bathrooms were often tranquil places; it was why so many of them were painted blue. Blue was supposed to be calming.

It actually worked.

He felt calmer in here that he did outside, despite the warm, pleasant feeling he received from being the company of people he liked and loved. He didn't feel like people were walking on eggshells around him as much.

Not that there were any people _in_ the bathroom, but the point remained.

To kill some time, he carefully unwrapped the bandage from his foot to assess the healing process. It was no longer swollen and the bruising had turned an ugly shade of yellow, meaning that it was slowly going back to normal. He tried wiggling his toes experimentally but then winced as pain shot through the front of his foot, making him recoil in his position on the toilet (he had put the seat down first, naturally).

_I want to stay a while longer but if I do they'll think something's wrong, and I don't really want Rachel bursting in on me when I'm sitting on the toilet, even if I'm not actually doing anything in here except wallowing in my own self-pity despite it being a day I should celebrate_.

He'd been doing a lot of that lately.

Deciding it was time to come out (pardon the pun), he took a few deep breaths, wrapped his foot back up and reached for his crutches unsteadily. He could hear loud chatter outside; clearly his own friends and family were getting along better when he wasn't there. This didn't make him feel better in the slightest.

"Hey, you're back! You were takin' so long, we thought you drowned." His father greeted him happily when he returned to the living room. "Are you okay? You look kinda...unhappy."

_Damn. I forgot that my dad can read me like a book_.

"I'm fine, Dad. Just...life getting in the way." He insisted. "It's nothing to worry about."

"You sure? 'Cause if you need a break from the big city, there's always room for you at home, you know. You're always welcome there." His father said. The very thought of returning to Ohio made Kurt's stomach turn and his throat constrict simultaneously; he knew how much his father missed him, but there was no way he could go back to Lima on a semi-permanent basis. New York was where he belonged now.

"I'll keep it in mind." Kurt replied, smiling as best he could despite the pricking behind his eyes. He was so all over the place that a simple conversation like this could rouse such a strong reaction from him. Maybe a break from New York _would_ be beneficial after all.

Luckily, Kurt was saved from another embarrassing display of emotion by the sound of the doorbell ringing, which he only just heard underneath the music and the clatter of glasses and bottles and general conversation.

Which was confusing, because everybody who had been invited to the party had already arrived and he didn't know anybody else who would turn up at 5pm in the afternoon. He'd already received his mail that morning and he had ordered no parcels.

"I'll get it!" Rachel called shrilly, "I'll get it! You all just wait right here."

Why Rachel was getting the door in _his_ apartment he had no idea, but he didn't feel like going all the way over there on his crutches and fumbling with the lock one-handed looking like an imbecile whilst whoever it was on the other side grew impatient.

It was just as well, because what happened next would probably made him drop his crutches and keel over completely.

"Who the _hell_ are you?!" Rachel demanded from the doorway, but Kurt couldn't see her from where he was standing. "What do you want?"

"I-I'm here to see Kurt. Is he here? Please, you have to let me see him." An all-too-familiar voice drifted across the room, strained and thin and pleading.

"Who _are _you?" Rachel demanded again, and Kurt could imagine the look of shock and confusion on her face.

He, however, felt as if the bottom of his stomach had dropped out and his whole body had gone numb. Because there was no way that this was actually happening. There was just _no way_ this was actually happening to him.

"I haven't got time to explain. I just _really_ need to see him."

Kurt just couldn't comprehend it. The questions _how _and _what_ and _why_ flew from his mind and all he could think about was _please, not here, not now, not in front of everyone_.

Because he was in love with Blaine Anderson, and he'd just turned up at his apartment.

* * *

**_A/N: DUN DUN DUN! Another cliffhanger. But I promise, I have a reason for all of this. Also, I know it seems implausible for Kurt to actually get to a restaurant for a cooking class on crutches, but this is Kurt Hummel we're talking about - he can do ANYTHING and he WILL do it whatever it takes, even with only the use of one leg._**

**_As always - let me know your thoughts in a review!_**


	11. May: Tokyo (Part 2)

**_A/N: The eagerly anticipated next chapter is finally here! I hope you enjoy it. Not long left to go now!_  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**May: Tokyo (Part 2)**

"Rachel!" Kurt called out, his voice much higher than he would have liked, "Rachel, relax! I'll-I'll sort this out."

His voice shook, as did the rest of his body, making it difficult to manoeuvre himself. He would have to confront him. It was no use trying to pretend that he wasn't here, because evidently he _was_ and he'd just make it even more awkward, for the both of them.

And then he came face to face with a rumpled, begging Blaine, still in his uniform, his expression pleading and his posture sagged. His eyes – such beautiful, bright eyes – were rimmed with red and his impossibly long eyelashes seemed even longer in the half-light of the hallway.

"You've-you've just come off a flight?" was the first question Kurt thought to ask.

"From Tokyo." Clipped. Straight to the point. He looked scared, apprehensive. Kurt felt much the same. "I just knew that I had to see you, to explain...everything."

"How did you know where I lived?" was the third question Kurt asked.

"I didn't. Or, rather, I didn't until I...well, I looked on the files on the airport computer to find out your home address." Blaine said sheepishly, ducking his head. "That's weird. Oh God, you think I'm a stalker."

Kurt slowly hobbled out into the hallway, mumbling an excuse to Rachel and shutting the door behind him. He wanted privacy for this.

"It is weird, yes." Kurt began, and Blaine looked crestfallen. "But it's also...incredibly romantic. Like _Cinderella_, except there are no glass shoes or ugly stepsisters involved."

A moment passed.

"I owe you the world's biggest apology, Kurt. I haven't been fair to you, I haven't been honest with you, I haven't done _anything_ right with you and I just want another chance to put it right, or at least a chance to explain myself and then you can make up your mind about me. You can tell me you never want to see me again, if that's what you want, and I'll walk out this building satisfied that at least, I've been honest with you."

Blaine said all of this in one big rush, his voice quivering and cracking on the words, and Kurt's heart clenched tightly in his chest.

"Then be honest with me." Kurt said softly, staggering a little on his crutches under the force of the moment.

Blaine drew in breath and exhaled with control several times, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. Kurt noticed that his hands trembled at his sides – nerves, or emotion?

"I love you." He said, swallowing hard. "I didn't realise it before, but I do. I was a coward, I...I let my past get in the way of something amazing and I was wrong, I was _so wrong_, to do that. I was stupid and an idiot and every other possible name you can come up with to describe me in a negative way. The truth is, I don't deserve you. I don't. I spend most of my time caring for my mentally ill mother, and what little time I have left, I'm flying across the globe from country to country but never actually getting to _see_ any of it."

He breathed hard, fighting tears and crossing and uncrossing his arms, stepping from foot to foot, clearly struggling and Kurt wanted nothing more than to let go of those damn crutches, grasp his hands in his own, and tell him everything that he knew he needed to hear and everything that he felt.

But Blaine wasn't done.

"And I-I'm scared that her illness is hereditary and after everything I've had-had to _go_ through, in my life, that's looking like a hell of a good possibility. You shouldn't have to burden yourself with-with someone who's damaged goods, Kurt. I know that I pretend to be the happy, friendly flight attendant at work but that's just my job, I have to do that, and I suppose a part of it is genuine but most of the time, it's not. I want to be happy and you deserve better than me but all I want is...is you."

Kurt didn't even realise he was crying until he felt salty tears drip down into the neckline of his shirt, staining the material with little dark spots. He had never seen such intensity in another person's eyes until his own made contact with Blaine's, and he felt everything within him expand with the force of his words.

"I want you, too." Kurt choked out. "You really hurt me, and I should be pissed off with you, and I suppose on some level I am, but I don't care about any of that because you're _here_ and..." he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence under another wave of tears. He didn't bother wiping them away; as soon as he did, fresh ones would appear in their place. "How did you _get_ here?"

"I took a taxi from Queens. It cost me $25 dollars but it was worth it just to see you. I'm pretty sure the cab driver judged me the entire way over here." Blaine said.

His aim was humour, but the moment was too serious for Kurt to appreciate the funny way he cracked a joke, the slightly sarcastic edge in his voice when he made a smart remark.

"Queens?" Kurt repeated dumbly, then cringed inwardly for sounding like an idiot.

"Yeah, I live in Queens. Didn't I tell you that before? I have to stay there with my mom." He said, the nerves creeping back in and making him sound on edge. "But now that I know where you live...I can come here. You know, if you'll...if you'll have me. If you'll let me, that is. And if you don't, that's fine. I know I hurt you. I know I made a mistake-"

"I know, Blaine." Kurt cut across, his voice as soft and light as a feather. Careful. Fragile. "I understand. And I don't care."

"-and I know that I've probably ruined any chance of – wait, what were you saying?" Blaine stops in his tracks, eyes wide and searching.

"I don't care." Kurt repeated, his throat dry. "I don't care and I'm willing to look past all of your mistakes or what kind of person you think you are because I love you too much to even _try_ and let you walk out this building with nothing."

"You will?"

"I will." For the first time that day, Kurt smiled, feeling his heart beat a mile a minute somewhere in the region of his throat. "I will."

And then Blaine laughed, the warm, loud, hearty laugh that Kurt loved so much and had missed just as equally, almost echoing off the walls of the deserted hallway. It was music to Kurt's ears and he couldn't remember _ever_ feeling this...uplifted. Happy. Satisfied with life.

And, for the first time, he found himself laughing with him, an almost bewildered, disbelieving laugh, as if all of this was some kind of complex dream that he wasn't sure he wanted to wake up from just yet.

"Let me make this up to you, Kurt. I want to. I owe you so many things and I want to do all of right this time." Blaine begged, reaching for Kurt's wrists and closing his warm fingers around them, the skin-on-skin contact delightful after such a long amount of time spent in misery.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little...preoccupied." Kurt pointed out, glancing in the direction of his crutches, but his mind was already racing ahead to all the possibilities that Blaine's offer entailed.

"Doesn't matter, we'll get a cab. I'll carry you up to my apartment if that's what I have to do. I am strong, you know." He said when he saw Kurt's sceptical expression.

"I don't doubt that you are."

"So?" Blaine asked, expression hopeful.

"I'll give Rachel an excuse. Or maybe I won't, she deserves it. I don't want to leave my family here though, they came especially to see me..." Kurt floundered, wondering what to do.

One part of his mind – the bigger part – desperately wanted to go back with Blaine to his apartment, to spend what was left of the day with him, to reconnect after so long.

The other part of his mind – the smaller and yet more rational one – was telling him that he shouldn't do it; that it was rude to his guests and, anyway, he would only get hurt again if this ended the same way it had before.

_But what if it doesn't? _He asked himself. _What if this could change everything? I can live with a lot of things, but I won't live with regret_.

"I'm sure they'll live just for one night." Blaine said quietly, and really, it should be illegal for a man like Blaine to have eyelashes that long because it wasn't fair the way he was fluttering them provocatively.

_Screw them, this is the man I'm in love with. I'll call them all later and apologise but right now, I have to make a decision for myself. Not for them, not for anyone else, but for me. _

_And I choose Blaine_.

"I'm sure they will." Kurt said teasingly, and let his lips curve into a sly smile that would let Blaine know that he accepted his offer.

He swore that not even stars could shine as bright as Blaine's eyes did at that very moment. Was he some kind of god? Whatever he was, Kurt wanted him. And he wanted him so badly it was like an ache that reached right down into the very pit of his stomach, the kind that dulls the body and fogs the mind until the person can think of nothing but wanting the other.

"You'll come?" _Oh, he has no idea. _

"I'll come." Kurt replied. _I don't care what you owe me. I want to be with you_.

"I better go call a cab, then."

If sexual tension was a brick wall, he wouldn't be able to get down the hallway. His whole body hummed with delight and anticipation as he watched Blaine walk a little way away to order a taxi to take them to his apartment. He watched the way the smooth muscles in his back and shoulders flexed under the material of his clothes, the line of his neck and the shine of the light on his dark hair.

They hadn't even got to the bedroom yet and Kurt was already wet in the mouth at the thought of him. Not that he was expecting that – not at all. But if it _did_ happen, he was going to welcome it with open arms. It had been far too long.

"Cab's coming in five." Blaine said, putting his cellphone back in his pocket and walking towards him, a shy smile on his face.

"I feel so candid." Kurt commented. "Like I'm...sneaking out or something."

"Sneaking out? What are you, fourteen?" Blaine joked, laughing his usual warm laugh.

"It just feels...unbelievable. That you managed to _track_ me down across three New York districts just to see me. Like Cinderella, without the glass slipper."

"I did always have a soft spot for that movie, especially when I was a kid." Blaine smiled. "Maybe it rubbed off on me."

"I preferred _The Little Mermaid_, myself." Kurt replied. _I missed this. I missed this easy, natural conversation with another person. No, not with another person – with _a _person. With Blaine. I missed this with Blaine_.

Blaine's cell beeped in his pocket.

"The cab's here. Do you...?" Blaine gestured awkwardly to Kurt's bandaged foot and crutches. "Need any help?"

"I think I'll be fine. There's an elevator anyway, as long as I don't put too much pressure on it I should be okay." Kurt said. "Thank you, anyway."

"You know me." Blaine said, winking and making Kurt's flutter. "Always a gentleman."

As it happened, he did insist on helping Kurt down the three steps outside the building and into the waiting taxi and Kurt was happy enough to let him. He seemed to be making up for lost time so he decided he might as well give him that – a chance at redemption, except he already had Kurt's forgiveness.

But guilt was powerful and he could see that Blaine wouldn't forgive _himself_ if he didn't try his very best to put things right.

The cab ride to Blaine's apartment was quiet but not uncomfortable; it felt candid, sneaking away from his family and friends. He felt like a teenager again, but without the awkward, embarrassing moments that made you want to curl up and die on the spot. It felt the way his teenage years were _supposed _to have been like; new, exciting, full of strange and often confusing experiences, but ones that were ultimately the best you would ever have.

And he hadn't even set foot in his apartment yet.

When they arrived, Kurt was pleasantly surprised; the building was white-washed and looked clean, if you ignored the trash bags on the sidewalk outside, and there were a few people about even in the oncoming evening. Blaine waved to a woman walking the smallest dog Kurt had ever seen as he, yet again, insisted on helping Kurt out of the cab and paid the driver the required fare.

"I would have paid, you know." Kurt said, rolling his eyes at Blaine's chivalry. "I just forgot my wallet. I didn't think I would be doing a _Romeo and Juliet_ at such short notice."

"I'll give you a warning next time." Blaine promised, holding out his arm for Kurt to hold in such a Victorian-era fashion that Kurt held back a snorting laugh that would surely have made Blaine, and everyone else on the sidewalk, stare at him.

Nonetheless, he accepted it and gave the other crutch to Blaine to carry since he didn't need it.

Inside, the walls were painted a bright blue and there was an enormous cactus in a terracotta pot next to the flight of steps that wound up to each of the floors – six in total, he had counted whilst they were outside. Kurt wondered who had decorated because the paint looked fairly new, no chips or scratches in sight.

"Who did the paint job?" Kurt asked as Blaine shut the door behind them. He smiled.

"I did, actually. Well, me and a couple of other guys in the building. It was my mom who picked out the colour. Or rather, she suggested it." Blaine explained. "Elevator's this way."

_Okay, he is actually perfect. What kind of guy goes out of his way to redecorate an old hallway voluntarily and not ask for anything in return?_

The elevator also looked new – suspiciously new, as if it'd sprung from the wall at the very moment Kurt had injured himself and had been in dire need of one. The chrome of the sliding doors reflected the light from overhead and distorted Kurt's reflection as Blaine pressed the button to call it down.

"Fourth floor is me. It's actually the best floor in the building, or rather, the best I could afford." His voice was strained – he was trying hard to make small talk.

Too hard, in fact. It was a sure sign of nerves and Kurt wished he had the ability to make some kind of affectionate gesture to take the edge off whatever butterflies were fluttering around in his stomach.

The ride up was smooth and soothing; this elevator was _definitely_ brand-new.

"You have no idea what a relief it is not to take four flights of stairs every day." Blaine commented casually. "Before they installed this, it was a nightmare. Everyone in the building complained enough so they eventually had to install the elevator."

"A prime example of why you shouldn't underestimate the power of the people." Kurt replied, as the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid open.

"This is us. Do you need help getting to the door?" _Such a gentleman_.

"I can manage, really." Kurt insisted. "You don't have to keep playing Cary Grant."

"Oh, but I think I do." Blaine grinned, fumbling with the keys before finding the right one and jamming it into a rather battered-looking lock belonging to apartment 22D.

The door swung open with a loud creak and Kurt barely was able to register his first impression of the inside before his crutches were taken from him and the carpet of the hallway disappeared from underneath his feet.

"_What the hell are you doing?_" he shrieked, rather loudly and shrilly, grasping at Blaine's neck to stop himself from sliding out of his arms – apparently, he had decided to make good on his offer to _carry him into the apartment. _

"I told you I would carry you in, didn't I?" said Blaine, his eyebrows quirking upwards in a _what did you expect? _sort of expression.

"I didn't think you were serious! Put me down!"

"Calm down, will you? It's all part of the plan." Blaine said.

"What plan?" Kurt asked sceptically.

"The plan to make it up to you." Blaine sounded so serious, the comedy of the moment had evaporated into thin air with Kurt's shrieks; and Kurt was no longer so annoyed at being airborne by surprise.

"I can deal with that." Kurt agreed.

"Very well. Shall we?" Blaine asked.

"You keep saying that."

"Saying what?"

"_Shall we?_ You really do sound like Cary Grant."

"Oh, be quiet. I'm going to carry you in now."

"Okay."

Kurt could feel Blaine's heartbeat almost right against his chest, the heat of his body seeping through his clothes and into his skin. Comedy aside, it was actually one of the most romantic things anyone had ever done for him; the first, naturally, was being tracked down across several New York districts just for this one moment of solitude. It was just lucky that they had both been done by the same person.

He was dropped onto the couch gently – a soft, springy couch but had the misfortune of being a terrible mustard colour, in no way matching the carpet nor the curtains that hung over the living room window.

"Yeah, I know." Blaine said, as if he'd read Kurt's own thoughts. "The couch is hideous. But it's still in pretty good condition even if it...doesn't quite match."

"Doesn't quite match? Blaine, this shade of yellow should never been seen in a person's living room. At all." Kurt said. "In fact, it's a crime against interior design."

"Maybe you should arrest me for it."

If Kurt didn't know better – or rather, knew better and chose to ignore it – then _that_ was an innuendo and his cheeks turned pink at the insinuation in Blaine's words. He was so new to this it was ridiculous. They'd already had sex! This shouldn't be so difficult!

"It's funny you should say that – I was once Officer Krupke in my high school's production of _West Side Story_."

"Really?" Blaine sounded surprised.

"Why is that so shocking to you?" Kurt asked, crossing his legs and carefully positioning his injured foot on one of the couch cushions.

"I didn't think you were a _West Side Story_ type." Blaine said honestly.

"I didn't think I was, until I saw the movie when I was fourteen – yes, I saw it late, okay? – and the whole romance of it blew me away." He sighed, smiling slightly. "Plus, it's based on the greatest love story ever told, _Romeo and Juliet_, though I've always thought it was unnecessary that they both had to die in the end."

"But that's the romantic part!" Blaine said. "They loved each other so much, they couldn't be apart from each other in life or in death. You're missing the point."

"It's morbid." Kurt said.

"It's romantic." countered Blaine.

"It's depressing." Kurt quipped.

"Then what about this?" Blaine asked, and disappeared round the couch from Kurt's line of sight.

He was just about to ask, _"What about what?_" when Blaine bent over the back of the couch and caught Kurt's open mouth in a sweet, soft kiss that was all tenderness and gentleness and the warmth of his lips and tongue.

"Was _that_ romantic enough for you?" Blaine asked softly, and Kurt could see each individual eyelash on his eyes, which from this angle looked golden brown. "Not morbid or depressing in any way?"

"Definitely not." Kurt said, a smile spreading across his face. And then he heard himself say, "Do that again."

And so he did. Harder this time, allowing his tongue to trace the edge of Kurt's lips. It was a slightly awkward angle like this, but Kurt didn't feel like caring. It was everything he had desperately craved for far too long.

"I've missed this." Kurt said softly.

"So have I. I was an idiot for too long and I really, really regret it." Blaine replied. "I hope you'll be able to forgive me."

Kurt laughed – he couldn't remember the last time he had laughed.

"Are you really that obtuse? I already _have_ forgiven you. I forgave you as soon as you turned up at my door and if you don't believe me, I may have to slap you." He was teasing, but there was an undertone of seriousness in his voice. He had to make him understand that he didn't _owe_ Kurt anything; he was all he wanted, nothing more and nothing less.

Blaine vaulted over the back of the sofa suddenly with a loud _thump_, making the couch cushions bounce and jostling Kurt out of his rather comfortable position.

"Why the acrobatics?" he asked, reaching out to take Blaine's hand in his. Smooth and warm just as he remembered it, the gentle pressure of his fingers was more than enough, and yet not enough at the same time.

"Impulsive action?" Blaine offered by way of explanation.

"How about this?" Kurt murmured, echoing Blaine's question from before and pressing their lips together again, immediately opening his mouth to allow Blaine's tongue to flick a hot, wet path around the inside of his mouth, across the roof of his mouth and along the back of his teeth. He felt Blaine's free hand fist the hem of his shirt, but the thought of wrinkling the fabric was in the furthest part of Kurt's mind.

Blaine's tongue caught his own, and Kurt allowed himself to let out a tiny moan of approval, his breath coming in short pants when they separated for air.

"Do you want to do..._this_...here, or...?" Blaine gestured vaguely around the living room, flustered, and swallowed audibly.

"What exactly are we talking about here?" Kurt asked, playing coy.

"What do you _think_ I'm talking about?" Blaine asked, raising an eyebrow and Kurt was _sure_ that was a definite innuendo. He felt his whole body grow warm and flushed under his suggestive gaze, but he didn't want to give in; he would keep this up for as long as he could before he cracked.

"If I'm thinking about what you're thinking about, I say we cut out the middle man...it's been too long." Kurt swallowed nervously, acting braver than he felt inside. He wanted to do this, he really, really did, but he didn't want to fuck things up again. Not now, not when everything was finally falling into place.

An intense gaze, a small smile, and then Kurt felt himself being lifted off the couch and within seconds he was laying down across it, his head on the arm of the couch where a small, equally mismatched cushion had been placed there as a makeshift headrest. Blaine was hovering over him, knees bracketing his hips on either side and being careful of his still-injured foot, which was stretched out ahead of him, on the other end of the couch. Kurt tried not to think about the fact that Blaine's ass was positioned right over his crotch, concentrating instead on the present moment rather than the immediate future.

They were so close, their noses brushed together and they could feel each other's breath on their faces.

"Just...just relax." Blaine said. "Let me do this for you."

"Okay." Kurt breathed.

Moments later, Blaine's lips were back on his, kissing gently, slowly, allowing himself time to explore Kurt's mouth. Small noises of pleasure made their way from Kurt's throat and he hummed in contentment, enjoying the slow drag of their lips and the caress of their tongues. His hand came up to grasp the back of Blaine's neck, holding him closer, and at the same time Blaine moved from his lips to his jaw, covering the skin with barely-there kisses, all the while moving down towards Kurt's throat and the juncture of his shoulder. Kurt let his eyes fall closed and he put his head back against the cushion.

The new angle allowed their hips to align almost perfectly and the resulting sensations sent shockwaves through Kurt's body. He felt Blaine's tongue dip out to smooth over the red marks on his throat where he had nipped at the skin, his lips tracing the contours of Kurt's collarbone and shoulder where he'd pulled the fabric of shirt away. Kurt, feeling bold, let his hands smooth down the backs of Blaine's thighs, eliciting a high-pitched sound of pleasure from the man above him, and _Oh, I could definitely put this to good use_.

"We should've done this sooner." Kurt gasped, the last letters slurring as he registered Blaine unbuttoning his shirt, the pads of his fingers brushing the skin. "You are _such_ an idiot."

"I know." Blaine murmured. "And, once again, I'm sorry."

"I don't care as long as you keep doing – _that_!" Kurt moaned, gripping Blaine's shoulders as he heard the sound of his pants zipper opening and felt a warm, strong hand slipping into his underwear to grip his swollen erection, pressing his thumb teasingly over the red tip and eliciting another, louder moan from Kurt. "For goodness' sake, Blaine."

"What?"

"Are you going to take off your clothes too?"

"Don't rush me."

"I wasn't trying to."

Blaine stopped what he was doing and Kurt groaned, scowling at him. He was sensitive and on edge and he wasn't the mood for – if you could excuse his use of the term – fucking around here.

"Can I take your pants off, at least?" Kurt whined, so childlike that Blaine laughed against the warm skin of stomach, the rumbling vibrations spreading through his body.

"Yes, you may." Blaine agreed after a moment, grinning like the cat who got the cream. He lowered his mouth to Kurt's erection, lips millimetres from the tip but not quite close enough for contact, before swooping back up and sitting back on his haunches where he was straddling him. "Go ahead."

"Are you always this annoying?" Kurt huffed, making short work of Blaine's pants and underwear, so that their bare skin touched at every delicious pressure point. Knees to knees, toes to toes, thighs to thighs, they were completely aligned.

"You'll have to stick around long enough to find out the answer to that question." Blaine gave Kurt a cocky grin, showing his perfectly white teeth that were so stereotypically _American_. You'd think he was from California, not New York, just by the state of those teeth.

Determined to end Blaine's sense of authority, Kurt swiftly gripped the base of his already-purpling erection, hard to the point of discomfort, and gave one, long smooth stroke right to the tip, deliberately ignoring the head. The subsequent gasp and long-drawn-out moan that Blaine gave told him that he'd succeeded in his mission; he felt his hips twitch above his own and his thighs trembled under the strain.

"Getting your own back?" Blaine asked through his panting breath.

"Yes, actually." Kurt asserted, stroking again, harder this time. It was difficult without lube but Blaine seemed to enjoy it, so he carried on.

"You know, if you keep doing that, this is going to be over way too early." Blaine gasped, covering Kurt's hand with his palm to stop his movements. "And I don't want it to be."

"Neither do I, but I enjoy teasing you." Kurt quipped. "It's fun." Another stroke, this time deliberately paying attention to the head, pressing his thumb into the sensitive slit.

"I suppose," Blaine's breath caught in his throat, "I deserve it."

"Yes, you do." Kurt said simply, never letting up his ministrations. A final, sharp press to the head and Kurt pulls back, pleased with himself as he watches Blaine's red cheeks puff out with each breath he takes. He rocked his hips forward so that his own painfully hard erection slips between Blaine's thighs, making very clear what he intended to do. The blunt tip pressed momentarily against Blaine's tightly clenched hole, and he moaned again.

"I thought this was about me taking care of _you_." he said.

"You deserve it just as much as I do, even if you don't think you do." was the reply he got from Kurt. He rocked forward again, not too much pressure, and bit back a groan at the sensation. "Got any...?" he trailed off.

Blaine reached down to his discarded pants where they lay on the floor and retrieved a small blue bottle. Kurt looked at him quizzically, an eyebrow raised.

"I was ridiculously optimistic." he shrugged.

Wordlessly, Kurt took it from him and applied a little lube to his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up first – he knew that cold lubricant on an extremely sensitive part of your body was most unpleasant. Not that he'd tried it often...he was, ah, more the type to receive rather than to give in these situations.

Without even receiving an instruction, Blaine parted his legs a little in Kurt's lap to allow him better access. When Kurt was done, he put the bottle aside and slowly, tenderly, smoothed the pads of his fingers over the soft skin of Blaine's inner thighs, teasing. As it turned out, the lube _was_ cold because Blaine shivered and goosebumps erupted across his skin, making the fine hairs there stand on end.

But it wasn't a bad shiver – it was a good shiver, and Kurt took that as a sign to carry on further in search of what he was _really_ looking for. And when he found it, Blaine let out the loudest moan Kurt had ever heard; louder than imaginable, and he immediately turned red and ducked his head in embarrassment when Kurt giggled and pressed harder against the little hole between Blaine's ass cheeks, not completely going in but just enough to drive him – well – _wild_.

One finger, and Kurt could see that Blaine was trying hard not to embarrass himself further by crying out. He could feel the muscles in his thighs and legs straining with effort and a hot, burning flash of arousal and pride and satisfaction ran through Kurt's body. He was the one who had done this; he was _making_ Blaine feel like this.

Blaine might think he owed Kurt something, but he would be damned if he didn't make Blaine feel exactly like the amazing person that he was. The amazing person that Kurt _loved_.

Kurt inserted another finger, pressing and stretching to prepare Blaine for him, to make this as incredible as it should be for him. He himself was struggling to contain his pleasure; but he knew he had to take things slow. They had all night to do this.

Even if he had to suffer what would probably be a very, very long lecture about family and blowing off your family from his parents later, despite him – as of today – being twenty four years old and allowed to do whatever he wanted.

Plus, he'd never hear the end of it from Rachel.

It was the sharp thrust of Blaine's hips that brought him back from his thoughts, forcing his fingers deeper and automatically leading to his prostate, which Kurt now made full and eager use of since Blaine had essentially done him the good of finding it. Slow, torturous caresses were all Kurt needed to do, feeling the warmth clenched around his fingers with the sound of Blaine's pleasure in his ears.

"I-I think I'm good now." Blaine said, closing his fingers around Kurt's wrist. "I won't last."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just...just do it. And I know how that sounds, but, just do it." Blaine said.

"If you're sure." Kurt swallowed, removing his fingers and retrieving the bottle of lube once more. But Blaine stopped him again.

"No." He shook his head. "I want to feel it. I want to feel you."

"Okay." Kurt breathed. Shifting his hips, he used his hand to guide himself to Blaine's hole, lining himself up for the easiest and most pleasurable entry. Every nerve in his body was tingling as though thrumming with an electric buzz; he could hear the beat of his heart in his ears.

Kurt eased forward at the same time Blaine did, pushing towards each other until Kurt was completely sheathed in the sudden warmth that sent his mind racing and his body crazy. Their breathing was the only sound that could be heard, except for the occasional squeak of the couch springs.

"Move." Blaine panted. And then, as an afterthought, "Please."

_Always so eloquent, even in the throes of passion_, Kurt thought, hiding a smirk.

"Together." Kurt said. "Let's do it together."

Slowly, but surely, Kurt began to move in long thrusts, making sure that the tip of his erection pressed against Blaine's prostate on every movement. He threw his head back and allowed himself tiny grunts and moans of pleasure, reaching to take Blaine's hand where it lay at his side.

Blaine in turn rocked forward in his lap, pulling backwards and pushing forwards, essentially sliding himself onto Kurt's erection – impaling himself over and over, creating a delicious friction that build quickly and hotly between their joined bodies.

Kurt was sure there would be bruises in the morning where their hips were rubbing together, but he didn't care.

He gripped Blaine's hips to hold him steady with a sweaty hand, guiding the direction of his movements as their pace quickened and the rough slide of their bodies on the material of the couch became more audible. Their eye contact never faltered; always looking into each other's eyes, keeping up their gaze. It made everything much more intense and real, at the same time as being _sur_real – and if you'd pinched Kurt now to make sure he wasn't dreaming, he wouldn't have believed his own senses when the pinch hurt.

Because this _was_ real and he was having hard time believing it.

Kurt moved faster, driving himself forward with deeper and deeper thrusts, and soon he was close; Blaine was too, he could tell, by the shine of lust in his eyes and the sheen of sweat on his throat, which Kurt longed to taste. Blaine leant forward to press wet kisses across Kurt's chest, and he tangled his fingers in the loose hairs at the back of Blaine's neck, holding him there, wanting to have him close when he came.

And when he did, the burning pulses of pleasure that rocked his body sent stars bursting behind his eyes; the sporadic clenching of muscles and the oversensitivity making them both cry out, unashamed.

They shuddered, coming down from their high together, stuck together with sweat and come and unbelievably, completely, blissfully happy.

"I love you." Blaine murmured against Kurt's chest, muffled. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realise that."

"Don't apologise." Even speaking seemed to take an enormous amount of effort; Kurt's bones felt like jelly, as if he might sink into the couch and never return. "And I love you, too."

"We should move. Or clean up, at least." Blaine said.

"I don't want to do that." Kurt rested his cheek against the top of Blaine's head. "I want to stay here."

"So do I."

"Then we will." Kurt said.

"I like that plan."

"Of course you do. I thought of it."

Blaine weakly hit Kurt on the arm, too exhausted to do anything else. For now, they could just _be_.

* * *

Kurt awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck, sore legs, seven missed calls and twice as many text messages.

He was also very, very warm.

For a moment he was confused; had he used the electric blanket last night? But upon blinking a few times and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he noticed that the room he was in was not his own. In fact, the apartment wasn't his own.

And then he registered the horrid yellow of the couch he was lying on and it all came back to him.

The warm thing was a _person_. No, not a person – _Blaine_. He was fast asleep on Kurt's chest, a peaceful look on his face. The rhythmic movement of his chest as he breathed in an out was incredibly soothing and reassuring; a reminder that last night hadn't been a dream.

He would have got up, but he couldn't because of Blaine's position on the couch, and it would be rude to wake him up when he looked so content. So he resorted to lying there, eyes closed, turning things over in his mind. The messages and calls would wait; he wanted to savour this.

Had it really been nine months since they had first met? It felt like nine days; so much had already happened and so much was _going _to happen, if that's what Blaine wanted. It was certainly what he himself wanted; he wanted everything.

This was his chance to have his own fairytale ending and he was going to take it.

Blaine moved suddenly in his sleep, then jolted awake, almost elbowing Kurt in the stomach in the process.

"Good morning." Kurt said.

"Morning," Blaine replied sleepily, then grinned. "What time is it?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"Good. We have all the time in the world." Blaine nuzzled against his chest, blinking rapidly in the gloom. "How's your foot, by the way? We're kind of in an awkward position here."

Kurt wiggled his ankle experimentally. It ached, but it wasn't too painful. "It's okay. Better, actually."

"So I won't have to keep carrying you around?"

"Sadly, no, as enjoyable that was." Kurt smiled.

"You do realise we're both still naked, right?" Blaine asked.

"And you just killed the mood." Kurt said. "Really, Blaine? I hadn't noticed."

"We should get off the couch. And put some clothes on." Blaine suggested. Then, he winced and wrinkled his nose. "And – uh – we should clean up, too."

"I'm all for conserving water, so...we should do it together?" Kurt allowed the innuendo to creep into his voice, pressing himself close so that Blaine could feel the solid weight of his body.

Blaine's grin from the previous night returned.

"I like the sound of that."

* * *

An hour or so later, when they were both washed and dressed and sitting at the old table in Blaine's tiny open-plan kitchen, the conversation turned to a more serious topic.

Nursing mugs of steaming coffee, they sat opposite each other and wondered how to start. Neither wanted to take that first step, but they knew that they had to, especially after what had happened last night.

"Where do we go from here?" Blaine asked tentatively. "What happens now?"

"To be honest..." Kurt looked around the room, at the sink and the cupboards. "I don't know. This is the first time I've really felt something for someone and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do it."

"You're not the only one. I mean, yeah, I've...dated before but I was naive to think that it was anything serious, or really anything _real_. This, here, right now...this feels real." He reached across the table to take Kurt's hand. "And I hope it does for you, too."

"It does." Kurt nodded. "Blaine, you have no idea how this feels to me, like everything I've ever wanted has come to me at once and I _have_ to take advantage of it. If I don't, I know I'll regret it forever."

"Regret is a powerful thing." Blaine commented. "I would know."

"Please don't be so hard on yourself." Kurt said pleadingly. "I hate it when you do that."

"I'll try not to. For you." was Blaine's sincere reply. "But I can't make any promises."

"We have all the time in the world." Kurt said. "We don't have to rush anything."

"I really do love you."

"I know."

"And I really, really want to be with you."

"I know."

"Is that all you're going to say?" Blaine asked then.

"I've already said everything I need to." Kurt replied, swallowing a gulp of coffee. "I don't need to say anything else, unless you want me to."

"No, it's okay." Blaine said. "I know. I understand."

A pause. Kurt's phone vibrated on the table near the couch, but he ignored it.

"So where do _we_ stand?" Kurt asked.

"Anywhere you want us to." Blaine said. "Wherever that is, I'm right there with you."

* * *

_**A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaah! Well, what did you think? As always, let me know your thoughts/theories/views in a review! **_


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